Epic, Eldritch Events involving Voldemort p. 1 - 8
by Roanaz
Summary: The adventures of Voldemort as he meets Discworld Death and assorted strange original characters while attempting to regain his body (it's a long story...) NEW!!! FINALLY I HAVE FINISHED IT!!!! ALL REJOICE!!!
1. Voldemort, meet Odile

Note to readers: This is an ongoing story - about a paragraph is written a night. It is also collaborative, and I acknolege the   
essential input of my fellow Potterite and friend, "Jessica S Jade." I will post the next installment when we've written enough, so you're probably in for a long wait (just a warning.) Background: This story is really strange - we started out with a plot objective and distanced ourselved as far from as it as we could. It is set in the Harry Potter world, and it started out as a Voldemort fanfic, but it's gotten elements of Discworld and Greek Mythology along the way. If you don't like Voldemort - or don't like Voldemort acting slightly out of charachter - you probably don't want to read this. If you don't like a plotless plot with millons of plot twists, REALLY don't read this. Although there is a plot; it just kinda gets lost. 

Disclaimer: Everything here mentioned in Harry Potter books is prop. J. K. Rowling. Everything from Discworld is prop. Terry Pratchett. Everything else (except the Greek Gods which are prop. themselves and including a little disclosure about your fav. snake, Nagini) is prop. Me, Roanaz, and Jessi. S. Jade) If you have any complaints about inconsistencies, acting-out-of-character, or other stuff, write me a review with it but don't expect me to change it. Write me a review even if you don't have any complaints! Anyway, on with the story!   


Voldemort snarled silently, baring sharp eye-teeth, at the obdurate wall. He tapped the brick again with his long, phoenix feather wand, stealing a glance over a black cloaked shoulder at the room behind him. It was empty, as he had known it would be; even Tom the Barkeeper had gone to bed hours ago. He turned his attention back to the wall. Which still refused to open up and admit him back to the wizarding world.   
"I should have never let down my guard enough to get caught out here!" he raged. He was especially furious at the fact that he couldn't even stay and wait for some other wizard to come through, as that would bring the entire Ministry of Magic down on him. Incompetent fools, the lot of them… but there were enough that alone, without even a single death eater with him, he could not withstand their combined efforts. He tapped the brick one last time and stalked off, a tall figure in a night-black cloak.   
It just HAD to be London, didn't it? he thought as he walked, a shadow's shadow among the alleyways and back streets. Of all the Muggle towns to be stuck in, didn't it just HAVE to be London? It didn't scare him; even as a boy, he had never been intimidated by the looming skyscrapers and dark streets with their darker secrets. No, quite the opposite. Those shadows had been a welcome refuge from the Muggle orphanage. His crimson eyes flashed with hatred, and an alley cat took flight at the sight of the glowing eyes swooping down at him. All thanks to his dearly devoted, (and now departed as well) father. A rather unpleasant smile twisted his pallid features. Oh, but revenge had been sweet. . .   
He shook his head. No time to reminisce, not now. He had to find some way to connect with his Death Eaters, or, barring that, get back into Diagon or Knockturn alley on his own. No use apparating; he'd tried it already and all he'd gotten was a headache. He sat down on an overturned ash can and thought.   
Try though he might, he was too angry to think coherently, so he rose again and strode off down the street again. He was so angry and pensive that he didn't even notice the girl until he walked into her.   
"Hey, bugger off, pal!" The young Muggle snapped up at him from her modest height. Voldemort started, having not even seen her. He looked at her and decided she couldn't haven't been more than 13 or 14; she was very short, with a stubborn look on her high cheekboned face, an angry set to her mouth, and a rather clouded, stormy look in her intense, blue eyes. Voldemort bared   
his teeth in an unholy grin which the girl could not see, under his   
hood.   
"You should go home, little girl," he hissed. "These streets are not safe after dark."   
The girl scowled at him. "My name is Odile, and it's not as dark as you think." Voldemort winced in pain and surprise as the bright light of a flashlight hit his face. He held up a spindly hand to shade his eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark. He blinked rapidly, and peered through his fingers at the girl, who had dimmed her light and was staring at him oddly, with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. He was about to yell at her in anger, but just then she spoke quietly.   
"Tell me, have you ever heard of a Muggle named Joanne Rowling?"   
"No, I haven't, and what's more, it's extremely impolite to shine torches in people's faces like that, and if you knew who I was, you'd-" He stopped. At the first sentence, she had suddenly gone white, and then just as suddenly broken into gales of helpless laughter.   
"What in the nine spheres is so funny?"   
She looked up at him, her face an odd mixture of laughter and fear. "It's just that, I do know who you are, and, and, I must say, you've shown a great deal of self-restraint…" Her voice trailed off. And Voldemort, musing on the appearance of this strange Muggle (for he could tell she had no magical talent, and no Squib would have acted as she did,) began to feel the strange sensation of fear.   
Well, no matter. She'd seen him, and, whether she knew who he was or not, she couldn't go blabbing it to everyone. There were too many wizards about. Odile, who had been frozen with shock, let out a squeal of excitement.   
"Hey, you're Volde-"   
Voldemort lashed out, clamping one hand over her mouth, and the other around her neck. Still, the girl didn't show as much fear as he would expect, something he wasn't used to. His surprise turned into anger when Odile bit him on the hand. He let go of her neck in mild surprise, staring in surprise and fascination at the trickle of crimson that had appeared on his hand. Mesmerising. . .   
"You know, for the most evil wizard in the world, you really can't fight!" Odile snapped, tossing her silvery-blonde braid over her shoulder.   
Voldemort grinned a serpentine smirk. "Watch me." He reached for his wand, mentally preparing himself for the strong drain of energy that always followed his use of the killing curse. And stopped. He couldn't risk doing magic - the Improper Use of Magic office was especially stringent on spells done in high Muggle - density areas - such as London. He laughed shortly under his breath. Here he was, the recently risen almost all-powerful Dark Lord, and he was worried about a citation from the Ministry of Magic!   
"I'm waiiting…" He jumped for the second time that night. The girl - a Muggle, for the Ineffable's sake - had gotten him completely stymied!. She continued.   
"I'm sorry, is there some reason you are refraining from killing me? I'm sure I haven't made that good of a first impression."   
He scowled. "Believe me, Muggle, if there was some way of disposing of you without revealing to the general public that I exist, I would do it in all haste."   
Odile did not appear shocked by this. She thought for a moment, and replied.   
"I don't think you have to be quite so secret about it. It is October, after all…and there's something I should tell you regarding that Muggle I asked about before."   
He regarded her with growing curiosity. "Yes, you probably should."   
"Come with me, Big V. Oh, and if a mean looking blue centaur and a tall guy in black with a red sword show up, then I am officially nuts."   
Odile led him in to an alleyway, bowing mockingly, savouring her power over him.   
Oh, she'll pay for that. . .   
The girl sat down on an overturned ash can and arranged herself comfortably, while Voldemort leaned against the wall, toying with his wand.   
"Humour me, Muggle," he sneered, faking boredom. "It's listen to you or wander around aimlessly, and I do not desire the latter."   
So Odile, a half grin playing on her mouth, spoke.   
Leaving Voldemort more than a bit more stymied than before.   
Odile laughed at the starstruck expression on his face. "Well, THAT's an expression I never thought you'd wear."   
Voldemort shook off the shock that someone had been telling MUGGLES about HIS world, (the nerve!) and regained his icy gaze and cold composure.   
"What did you ssay her name wasss?" He asked. As he spoke this, he knew he must REALLY be angry, because he only hissed his sibilants when he was particularly displeased.   
"Joanne Rowling," Odile repeated fearlessly, matching him glare for glare.   
"Hmm. . .Rowling. . . Aha!" Voldemort barked a harsh laugh.   
"Rowling! I should have guesssed. Excellent Sseer. . . she never could keep a ssecret."   
"Hey, Ineffable!"   
Voldemort looked down at her, his face once again calm.   
"Yes, Muggle?" he sneered.   
"May I just say that this has been the coolest day of my life? Not to mention the weirdest. I mean, that woman I ran into down at the library was weird enough, but. ." She shrugged, looking off into space.   
Voldemort's vermilion eyes widened. Ah! Her guard was down. "Your weirdest, you say? And best? May I add LAST to that category?"   
Before Odile could react, he had grabbed her round the throat and pinned her against the wall. 

"Dammit… I… should…have….known!" Odile struggled, her face slowly growing redder as the lack of oxygen caused her blood vessels to dilate. "Never … trust… a dead man."   
Voldemort grit his teeth. The girl had told him all he needed to know; she was expendable. He had strangled people before, before he gained his powers, and he knew how much longer it would take. He didn't factor in oversized starlings attacking his face.   
As he shielded his eyes from the sharp beak, bleeding in several places, he noticed Odile panting, slumped to the ground. He flinched back from the flapping wings and the shrill screeching of the bird. Abruptly, the starling shimmered into the figure of a tall woman, without ceasing her diatribe. "… I know you're the dark lord but what are you some sort of idiot, if you'd even bothered to try an aura analysis, that's elementary in magiphysical science, you'd see…" Her voice trailed off. Voldemort, though still furious, stared in wonder at the grey-haired apparition in front of him. "Maggie?" he said, "Maggie Proserpine?"   
"The one and only, and still keeping track of current events!"   
"And just why did you stop me of disposing of this Muggle? You hate them as much as I do!" growled Voldemort.   
Maggie responded carefully. "I saw her earlier today, and immediately realised she was worth watching; I've gotten into the habit of reading auras in passing, and it paid off. I set a tracer on her-" Here Maggie turned to Odile. "You still got that feather?" Odile, now sitting up but still visibly red, mutely pulled a black starling's feather out of her pocket. "Good." Maggie turned to Voldemort, who was growing even more irritated. "So what does that have to do with me?"   
"You will soon see that she may represent your last hope."   
Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Really."   
"WHAT!?!?!" Odile yelped, almost losing her eyebrows in her bangs.   
"ME?! Man, you're as crazy as HE is!"   
Voldemort glowered at her. "I'll take that as a compliment. And you would do well to remain silent. I would prefer not to have the Ministry of Magic swoop down on me from all directions. But if you push me too far I might decide to risk it."   
Odile's mouth closed with an audible snap.   
"Oh, be quiet, Tom," snapped Maggie. "Give the kid a break."   
Voldemort's face contorted into an expression that was half snarl, half glare, and altogether unpleasant. "Never. . . call. . .me. . .that," he said in a voice so menacing and cold that it could make a raging hippogriff turn around and go home with its tail between its legs. Maggie, however, was unintimidated. "What? Afraid to hear your father's name? Your name?" her lips quirked in a half smile. "Well, the dead DO have a habit of coming back to haunt us. . .don't they?" Odile stifled a laugh, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits. "I refuse to be controlled by a child and a songbird. Tell me what I wish to know-"   
In an instant his wand was pointed at Maggie's throat--   
"Or you will be conjuring yourself a new head."   
Maggie laughed and looked at Odile, a mockery of indignation on her face. "Such rudeness! I don't think he deserves to be told, do you?"   
Odile grinned. "Well, I don't know. He HAS been very poorly behaved, but on the other hand. . . .I've always been fond of anything cold-blooded."   
Voldemort threw his hands in the air. Females!   
"Well . . . All right then."   
Finally!   
"Very well," he said coolly. "Tell me. I might let you live after   
all."   
He leaned against the cold, unyielding stone wall.   
Their move.   
"All right," Maggie said. "First, stop being so threatening - point your wand somewhere else." Voldemort complied, grudgingly. "good. Now, I want you to remember that Advanced Enhancement of Powers class we took sixth year - the one with Professor Jupes." Voldemort sent his memory back. Jupes had been extremely dry most of the time, interspersed with bouts of rage; an extremely odd temperament for a graduate of Ravenclaw.   
"Remember what he said to us the first day, when we discussed resources." Voldemort concentrated. It had been extremely profound for the old duffer.   
"If one has complete dominion over oneself, one has more power than if one had control over any number of others."   
"Right."   
Voldemort was getting irritated. This failed witch was acting as if he was a student in one of her classes! "What do you have to say about this … female conspiracy, Odile?"   
"Actually, I don't know anything; I was bluffing and it seems to have worked." Odile, though still sitting, seemed to have recovered fully. "And I don't see how she's a failed witch - she seems fine to me."   
Voldemort was shocked. He hadn't said it out loud, had he?   
Maggie appeared insulted. "I am NOT failed! I am a credentialed witch, and have no lapses in any way recognised by the Ministry of Magic!"   
"Ah, but that's the point. You've failed where it really counted, though - the Rite of Ash-Kente." He remembered it well. There had been three of them; himself, Maggie, and the other one; what had his name been? It didn't matter, anyway; he was more than dead now, obliterated in a very special sort of way.   
"Well actually, that figures into this whole episode - scene - thing - whatever you want to call it - that's happening right now-" Maggie began, but was interrupted by a shimmery blue -white vaguely human-shaped wisp of smoke that grew and twisted and gradually solidified. Voldemort recognised it as a showier form of Apparating, but was totally unprepared for the person it became.   
Well, technically, he was familiar with the lithe, black clad   
figure who shimmered into view, but at the moment, he wasn't aware of it. It was a her; that was unmistakable. Tall. . . .the word wasn't adequate to describe her. She towered over even him. She was very slender and long limned, with a catlike grace that was uncanny. Her features were aquiline, sporting prominent cheekbones, a thin face, and slanted eyes. She wore a sleek black sleeveless dress that came down to mid thigh, supple black leather gloves which came up past her elbows, and sharply heeled, thigh high boots of the same material. Her flesh, what little of it was visible at the shoulders, face and neck, was chalk white, and smooth, silky hair fell in an ebony sheet to her ankles. It was difficult to tell her age; She could have been as young as 20 or older than 50. Odile and Maggie were staring at her with gape mouthed amazement; Voldemort with surprise and interest. The woman, however, seemed to completely ignore the two females and trained her cold, ice blue eyes on Voldemort. He saw that the pupils of her eyes were slitted, like a cat's.   
Or a snake's. . .   
Odile realised it at the same time as he did.   
"Nagini?!?" They whispered in unison, mouths open in shock.   
The woman's thin, blood red lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "At your sssservicsse, my Lord."   
Voldemort tried, once again to regain his composure, but it wasn't   
often that snakes changed into leather clad, hard faced women, and he found it difficult. "Is there a reason I was not told of this?"   
"You never asssssked. I ssssaw no reassson to enlighten you, asss you did not require the asssisstancssse of me in thisss form."   
"Well, then why are you here?"   
"Becaussse I am the only loyal Death Eater capable of travel."   
"Why, may I ask?"   
"Becaussse every other loyal Death Eater hasss been imprissssoned."   
"By whom?"   
"The resst of the Death Eaterssss, my liege," Nagini said simply.   
"WHAT?" His ruby eyes flew open at that. "WHAT did you sssay?"   
"Insssurrection. Usurpation. Rebellion. Mutiny. However you   
choossse   
to ssay it, Half your followersss have decsssided to take over."   
Voldemort stared at Nagini for a moment. He did not go white, as he was already bone - pale; however, his eyes did widen until they looked the size of teacups. He spoke in a too - calm voice.   
"I have had too many surprises today. And none of them have been good. I think I am about to have a nervous breakdown."   
With that, he collapsed sitting onto the ground with his face in his hands, sobbing strangely, hissingly.   
Everyone froze.   
Slowly, Odile walked over to him and put her arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," she said softly. "We've all had a bad night. We'll figure something out."   
Voldemort froze. For one of the first times in his life, he was experiencing true sympathy, sympathy that he had not schemed and calculated to receive that he might use it for his own ends. But he was opportunistic. He tried to calculate what he could do.   
And stopped. A rebellious part of his brain, one long - dormant, was screaming at him: "Idiot! You are in a bad way, you cannot even think straight, and you would reject possible allies to do it on your own! What are you thinking?!"   
Slowly, Voldemort calmed down. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe, and looked up. He noticed Nagini standing off to the side in perplexion; snakes could not truly understand sympathy and compassion. He had worked to destroy those emotions in himself, but it seemed he had failed. He looked up at Odile.   
"What do you suggest we do?" he asked, his voice shaky.   
Odile stared into the middle distance, thinking. When she had seen him upset, she had moved instinctively to comfort. She could never have done it consciously - or could she?   
"You mentioned a seer," she said distantly. "Let's ask her."   
Voldemort stared at this strange Muggle girl, so perplexing and complicated, such an enigma, filled with such things as he could never understand. Their eyes locked, crimson to ice-blue. "I did indeed mention a seer. I was referring to this. . .author, this Rowling. She IS a true seer, because that's the only way she could have known such things as you mentioned, such as my last. . . encounter. . . with the Potter boy. She is no Death Eater, a strong supporter of Dumbledore, which rules her out completely; I am sure she would never give me the time of day, much less help take over the world she is trying to protect. No, I'm afraid that is a dead end."   
"Excuse me, my lord, but I musst be returning. I will tell no one of thiss encounter, but I will be misssed if I do not return," Nagini hissed, bowing low.   
Voldemort glanced at her. "Yes, of course, go." She bowed again and disappeared. Voldemort turned his attention to Maggie, who had barely moved since Nagini's appearance. "Have you any ideas?"   
Maggie gulped and nodded.   
"Then let's find out if you're as smart as we all hope you are."   
Maggie spoke. "Before this person - Nagini - appeared, we were talking about the rite of Ash - Kente. I'd like you to think about what that was.   
Voldemort remembered. After he'd left Hogwarts, he'd gone through many of the sort - rituals and transformations that had made him who - what - he was now. The Rite of Ash-Kente had been one of the more obscure ones. It had come from an ancient tome that had appeared one day as he was experimenting with a spell that he had modified. The original spell had destroyed walls. He had apparently used it to temporally bring down a wall between worlds, and the book had gotten through. The rite had been quite interesting; he hadn't known that Death was an actual personality until then - and Voldemort was lost in the memory. 

_"It says you really only need 2 c.c.s mouse blood and some bits of wood," Maggie had said._   
_"Humph. Let's do it the other way, just in case." Malthor, that was his name; he was mildly obsessed with always following the rules. His rules, anyway. The circle was set up. It was not exactly like it had been in the book; they were reckless experimenters, even then. They said the words, and then -_   
_the figure in the black cloak shimmered into being, uncertainly._   
_WHAT IS THIS?_   
_Now was his cue. Voldemort stepped forward. He was confident of what would happen next; he had planned it out._   
_"I have brought thee here, Death, that I beg a boon, of control over thyself."_   
_WAIT. YOU'RE GOING TO CONTROL ME? YOU? YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!_   
_"I have none yet, but I bring for thee this sacrifice, that thou shalt be appeased." Malthor appeared shocked, though he knew it was part of the plan. Maggie's eyes narrowed._   
_OH. I SEE. YOU WANT ME TO - OH. FOR THEM. ALL RIGHT. WHAT ARE THY WISHES, THAT THOU WOULD APPEASE ME FOR?_   
_"That I should gain complete and total control over thee and ton minions, for the connection therewith of my body and ghost therein." It was nonsensical wording, but he knew not to tamper with some things. "Therefore I offer to you, these two, one as the given payment, that he might suffer my death as the one you shalt not receive; the other as appeasement." This was a change from what they has agreed on; the fools Maggie and Malthor had each thought that the other was going to be the one destroyed._   
_THAT IS ACCEPTABLE. THREE ENDINGS FOR THREE LIVES. YOUR SACRIFICE IS ACCEPTED; BUT I SHALT ACCEPT THE OTHER NOT AS THE APPEASEMENT, FOR THERE HAVE BEEN PRIOR ARRANGEMENTS. IT SHALT BE COMPLETED._   
_With that the cloaked figure took, from somewhere inside his voluminous robes, three hourglasses, like egg timers. Suddenly, one began to crackle with reddish light. The second still appeared normal, but the figure - Death - passed it through the other two as if it was nothing but illusion- and when it came out it was empty of sand._   
_Malthor screamed._   
_Voldemort never remembered what happened directly after that, though he did sometimes have dreams, forgotten on awakening. But sometimes he though of that first timer, the one with the red lights. And sometimes he wondered about the apparently unaffected third._   
He jerked out of his reverie. "I remember."   
Maggie turned to Odile. "Do you remember your parents?"   
Odile shook her head. "They found me on the doorstep of the orphanage, and I've been living there ever since. But I know this is my real name. This was around my neck when they found me; I've worn it all my life."   
In her hand, on a chain of some dark metal, was a small hourglass. On the base, inscribed in silver letters, were the words Odile Orcus. There was no sand in it.   
Voldemort's response was purely serpentine; his eyes widened and his   
slit pupils dilated, and he hissed in surprise. He was dumbfounded; and he dealt with dumbfoundedness and shock in a very predatory way. Not many people knew he had retractable claws on his fingers; well technically, several people knew, just few of them were in any state to tell anyone. He extended them now and lunged at Odile, swiping with razor-sharp claws at the little memento of his past brush with Death that the child carried around her neck. "Hey!" Odile yelped, and dodged out of Voldemort's way. His impetus carried him past her and into the alley wall. There was a dull pain as a sharp eye-tooth slashed the inside of his mouth, but he could hardly feel it. He could see only through a haze of red. Adrenaline and rage poured through him. It was an outrage, an insult, that his life, that which was the only thing keeping him from dying as Malthor had, what been carted around for who knew how many years, by a clumsy, ignorant Muggle? And not just any Muggle, but a Muggle child?! He whirled around, starting again toward Odile, seeing not her fearful face, or bruised throat, only the little hourglass, so   
insignificant to her, but his entire world to him.   
"V-Voldemort!" she yelled. "Stop!"   
He ignored her, he could hardly hear her through the pounding in his ears.   
"Tom!"   
That got his attention. He stopped cold and stared at her. "How DARE you call me that!"   
"I w-will if it'll get your attention," Odile said tremblingly, blue eyes fearful. Her fingers crept toward the hourglass, and she clenched it tightly in her clammy, dirty hand.   
"LET GO OF THAT!" he roared at her, and she dropped the hourglass in surprise. To his horror, the chain snapped, and the hourglass was falling, his life about to smash on the dirty cobblestones. . . .   
ZAP.   
The hourglass, instead of crashing to the ground, shot like a bullet, across the alleyway into Maggie's outstretched hand. She looked at them both as a disapproving mother looks at a child who has thrown a tantrum.   
"Now, that's enough of that." she said calmly. "Now, you are going to be silent, you are going to listen, and you are going to learn exactly how you can maybe, just maybe, help each other."   
Maggie looked at Odile. "Here's your hourglass back; it wouldn't have broken anyway. It's only the ones with sand, the other ones, where you have to worry about that."   
Voldemort started to protest, but stopped; Maggie heard him, though.   
"And you! I always felt that you thought with your wand instead of your head. Did you even look at that glass? Did you even see the name on it? Or did you just remember Malthor and make the wrong assumption?"   
Voldemort hung his head. He had forgotten that maggie could be too much of a responsible adult at times - she made him feel like a child.   
" This is a lifetimer. They can only ever have one name on them, and everyone has them. When all the sand has run out, that person's life has ended. It is possible to live on borrowed time, or even stolen time. If yours was empty, it would mean that you either had been permanently obliterated - or never lived in the first place. I assure you neither of these are the case. Your timer, if I remember correctly, was still crackling red and the sand flowing sideways last I checked. And it's where it should be. Odile's - well, Odile is a special case…"   
Odile looked frightened. Voldemort didn't blame her. She was muttering something under her breath.   
"Zeus?…too many…was it…let's see… Hephastus was…forge, umm…Apollo and wait, Daphne…who?…Demeter?…no…wait!"   
They were figures from Muggle mythology; he knew that much. But why?   
Idly, Voldemort began thinking of the Muggle Mythology as Relating to Ancient Wizards course he took fifth year. It was a subject that was soon retired due to lack of interest. Most of those myths were just that, myths. He remembered one, though, that did have a basis in fact. Which one was that? He could remember old Prof. Winder saying, as clear as day, about how it was really less violent and more romantic than the Muggles thought of it; there had even been a child - but what myth was it?   
Suddenly, Odile blurted out, "Hades and Persephone! THAT'S it!"   
Maggie appeared shocked. She nodded her head slowly. "We always called him Pluto, but yes. They were - are, they're still around, your grandparents."   
Odile stared solemnly at her. "I thought so. I knew when we learned about them in class, but I didn't know how or why I knew. Now I know for sure."   
Voldemort tried to comprehend all of this. "Wait… she's Hades's granddaughter …. But Hades is different from Death so… Maggie? Is that why He - Death said that? About the prior arrangements?"   
"Yes. I am her mother. And Death is her father."   
They all stared for a moment, and that was when the Aurors appeared at the mouth of the alley. 

To be continued... 


	2. Aurors and Azkaban

Here it is - Part 2! this starts off directly where part 1 leaves off, you should read that first or else it won't make much sense. I would like to acknoledge Jessica S Jade, co-author and generator of the brilliant - in my opinion - "Sirius Tirade." (Yes, folks - it's a special appearence by Mr. Sirius Black himself, and another "mr black," shall i say, heh heh heh, discworld fans should reckognise him...) If you like this, review and tell me why. If you don't, review and tell me why - critisize me! flame me! correct me! insult me! (well, I'd rather you not _insult_ me, but I guess I was on a roll there.) But, anyway, enough with the intruduction, 

Part 2 

Earlier, Maggie had accused him of thinking with his wand and not his head, but this time he thought with his feet. He had barely time to glimpse the stony faced Aurors in their short black robes, and the tips of their crackling wands before he was off and running down the alley, into the shadows. Though he was on the verge of panic, part of his cold, ruthless mind must have been thinking, for he grabbed Odile by the collar and yanked her after him.   
"Hey!" She yelped. "What about Maggie?"   
Her question was answered by a starling shooting down the alleyway just ahead of them, chirping and cawing shrilly.   
Voldemort didn't have time to think. He could hear Odile's footsteps and her gasps, and his own hissing breath, but that was all. All he cared about was putting as much distance between himself and the Aurors as was humanly possible, then tripling it.   
About then, the Aurors recovered from their brief shock at seeing their quarry disappear down an alley with a Muggle girl and an oversized songbird in tow. With five faint pops, five black robed figures appeared, wands pointed straight at him. He and Odile froze solid, transfixed by the cold triumphant looks the Aurors wore. Odile was the first to react; She leapt at the nearest Auror, a tall man with raven black hair and cold blue eyes, whacking him over the head with her flashlight. Without stopping to learn if he was knocked out or not, she whirled around and whacked another Auror in the jaw, a brown eyed young woman whose blonde, curly haired head snapped back as she crumpled to the floor beside Odile's first conquest. Another Auror shrieked in surprise and pain as Maggie swooped down on him.   
The young Auror shot bursts of flame in every direction, panicking, and, while managing to avoid hitting Maggie completely, also set his compatriot's hair aflame. Voldemort shot a solid jet of water out of his wand, which took the flame-haired Auror and his panicked partner, not into the wall, but through it.   
Only one left.   
The single remaining Auror was a strong looking woman with shockingly white hair and green eyes, now narrowed to slits as she pointed her wand at the three of them.   
"Expelliarmus!" she yelled, and all three of them were thrown back. Maggie, small bird that she was, smashed into the wall and fell to the ground in a heap of dark feathers. Odile shot back, her heavy flashlight flying into the air to crash on her head; she slumped to the ground, stunned.   
As for Voldemort, his wand shot high into the air and landed several meters away, out of reach. He turned to face the Auror, who laughed harshly.   
"Not so tough without your wand, eh?" she cackled.   
Voldemort considered the options, decided on the best course of action (run!)   
dismissed it, and strode forward confidently, going faster and faster, fist raised to meet the surprised Auror's face. He pulled back his fist,   
swung-   
-and missed. He lost his balance and fell forward, landing hard on the cold, grimy stone. He heard harsh laughter and looked up at the crackling tip of the Auror's wand. He looked further, into her hate filled face and half mad eyes, and past her to see. .   
Odile, who brought the flashlight down on the Auror's head with an audible crack. The Auror looked, if anything, disappointed as she fell.   
Voldemort stood up and retrieved his wand, ready to kill the Auror for this insult.   
He was about to snarl a curse when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to look down at Odile, who was carrying her starling mother in her arms. The girl shook her head, a dazed expression on her face, both from the thrill of combat and from her news. "No time," she said firmly. "Come on, lets blow this pop stand."   
"I couldn't agree more. But where?"   
"Come with me."   
She dashed into the hole in the wall made by the two rather soggy Aurors, stepped nimbly over their prone figures, and was gone, with He Who Must Not Be Named in tow.   
They both ran until they were nine blocks down and six blocks over, and Maggie had begun to wake up. She stirred as her daughter laid her down on the floor of an old abandoned warehouse they had come upon, then as her eyes slowly opened, turned back into a woman. Voldemort was both relieved and irritated to see that she was the same old Maggie, right down the stubborn look and grey streaked hair. Her eyes lit upon her daughter, and they both hugged each other tightly. Voldemort turned away, disgusted by this display of sentiment, but strangely embarrassed, and maybe, even. . . . jealous?   
He purged such thoughts from his mind as he turned back too face the   
child of Death and her mother.   
Such emotions were useless, after all.   
What was gone was gone.   
"Aww… What a _sweet_ little family reunion. It's not _your_ family, is it, Voldemort, but how _nice_, eh? Don't you just _love _happy endings?"   
Voldemort whirled around at the sound of the mocking voice, but there was no one in sight. He cast a quick Reavealus charm, but the speaker remained hidden. He snuck a glance at Maggie, who was tense, wand ready.   
"Oh, and one _little_ thing. You really _shouldn't_ have tried to spell me into visibility. It wouldn't have worked _anyway,_ you know, and it's brought the rest of the squad of Aurors right on your tail. All fifty of them, I believe. You're_ surrounded,_ now." As if to confirm the voice, there were other voices from outside, in all directions.   
"What do we do?" asked Odile nervously.   
"I don't know," replied Voldemort grimly. "There's too many of them for me to take on, all at once. Any mass-destruction spell needs either a long time to prepare or a huge amount of power, and I have neither."   
Maggie looked around as a blast came from the wands of the first Aurors to enter the room, startling a stray that had been scavenging nearby. They all instinctively ducked. "Esiohpe!" she shouted. A shimmering hemisphere erupted out of her wand and enveloped the three of them, deflecting the spells of the next Aurors. "This won't last long," she said. "Odile, I don't like asking you to do this, but you have to agree to it for all of us to survive."   
"Yes…?"   
Maggie spoke quickly. "You are going to temporarily relinquish your body. You have no magical talent, mentally; however, you, because of your … unique birthright, are bound by certain constraints that would allow large amounts of power to be drawn. Are you willing to this?"   
"To survive? … Anything." Odile laughed shortly, humourlessly.   
Voldemort knew immediately what to do. He had lived long enough in the bodies of others, that the transfer came without effort. Suddenly he was plunged in the alien senses that made up Odile. He adjusted quickly enough. However, he had missed one crucial fact: Before, he had had no body, so the spirits of the snakes and other animals had shared the mental "space" with him. But now, he could sense that he was alone in this body, and he turned to see "his" body moving; Odile's consciousness was animating it! He couldn't think about that now, though; he had to concentrate. Quietly he spoke.   
"Death: I have complete control over thyself, thy minions and therefore thy spawn. I draw upon that control." He closed his eyes and concentrated, invoking the feelings of destruction and death that would prompt the spell. They came slowly, and then faster, until he was filled to the brink with the emotions of darkness. He felt the protective barrier withdraw, surrounding only Odile, in his body, and Maggie. He spoke a single word to the stars beyond the devastated roof, shredded and fractured by the deflected spells. There was a flash of red, and the barrier came down, but not a moment too soon. The bodies of Aurors lay everywhere. Then, suddenly, he was frozen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Maggie too could not move. Striding out of the darkness came a tall, gaunt man with long shaggy hair. "Got you at last," he said, addressing what he thought to be Voldemort, but in reality was Odile, "I've got you." Speaking, the man conjured ropes around Voldemort's body and revived it. Odile struggled momentarily, but gave it up as a futile act; she glared at the man, but did not speak. It was strange, Voldemort thought, to see what others saw when they looked at him. He looked at the man again. He was familiar, somehow…Soon the man was magically transporting them all out of the warehouse to his Auror compatriots. "I've got Voldemort," he reported, "and what looks like a pair of Death Eaters. Notify Dumbledore." The man looked at Voldemort, in Odile's body, as he said this, and Voldemort finally found the name to go with the face. Sirius Black. 

Odile felt light headed, dizzy. . . . Her eyes locked with Voldemort's, as if simply by concentrating hard on those slit pupiled, blazing balls of fire she could somehow keep herself grounded in reality.   
Futile effort.   
She felt a sharp jerk, and a jolt as if she had grabbed a live wire, then found herself looking, not into Voldemort's pale, angular face, but into her own. Those were her stormy blue eyes . . . her silvery, scruffy hair. . . her stubborn, defiant face. For a moment . . . her . . .face. . . looked dazed and dreamy. But then it hardened, and sure enough, Voldemort was glaring out of her eyes, and her mouth was twisted into an all too familiar sardonic smirk.   
Odile noticed that she felt a lot taller. As . . . .she. . . .turned away, Odile looked down at herself. She felt dizzy, because she had always been somewhat vertically challenged. She stared at her incredibly long fingers, absently touched her aquiline face and flat serpentine nose. She jumped as she heard her own voice bark out a harsh stream of arcane commands. Her gaze darted between her mother, eyes narrowed in concentration, and Voldemort, suddenly much shorter and MUCH younger, arms raised to the sky, screaming at the Aurors in a voice that was even higher than usual.   
Suddenly, a blast drove her to her knees, knocking Voldemort -now-Odile flat out on his/her stomach. Maggie collapsed as well. Odile- now Voldemort -turned and stared at the sallow, wraith thin young man in the black robe.   
His blue eyes, peering out at them from under filthy, matted hair, were cold. They lighted on her, and his eyes narrowed, his face a mask of savage glee.   
"Got you at last," he sneered. "I've got you."   
He pointed his wand at them, binding them tightly with magical ropes. Within minutes, he was magicking them out of the warehouse and into the sky.   
"Not so tough now, are you?" the man leered. "What's wrong? Afraid to take on anything that's older than fourteen? I suppose you must be worn out; trying to take out my godson must be really taking it's toll. . . ."   
Odile had never seen him before, but she now knew who he was.   
"Sssssiriusss Black." It was a statement, not a question.   
"The one and only. No need to ask who you are. And who are these two? Death Eaters?" He wasn't talking to her anymore; now he was wondering aloud. "The woman, maybe. We've got records on her. But the girl. . . . She can't be more than 13 or so. . . Confunded, probably." Odile couldn't help but laugh, and was surprised at the sharp hiss that came from her mouth.   
"If you only knew. Padfoot."   
Sirius stiffened, then turned to look at her. So did Voldemort, a curious look on his new face.   
"What are you talking about?"   
"Do you really think I don't know? I know aaalll about you, Sirius. I know you helped write the Marauder's Map. I know you were best friends with three boys name of Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew. I know you hated Severus Snape at Hogwarts. Hate him still. Hate him with a passion. And I know you tried to set your friend Moony on him in your sixth year." She allowed herself a harsh chuckle at the dumbstruck look on face. She had power over him, even tightly bound and lying at his feet. "It looks like we have something in common after all. Both capable of murder at sixteen. Did you look forward to it, Sirius? Did you wish that you could walk in right before the werewolf ripped Snape's head off, so he could know it was you? Did you look forward to the day when you could watch him die, slowly, painfully, torn in a thousand places, ripped to pieces by your good friend Remus?"   
"Shut up!"   
Odile ignored him and went on. "You did. didn't you? You didn't just want to scare him, you wanted to kill him, to see him, to see his bloody, mangled form, running away red into the earth of that secret passageway. Don't try to deny it. You may have made up with him, but murder never goes out of a man. . . . You'd do it again, if you had the chance, and pray your friend James wouldn't rush to pull Snape out of the jaws of death."   
There was fear on Sirius's face, hearing the cold truth in her words.   
Odile took a savage pleasure, and the words came faster and stronger.   
"Aw, does it hurt to hear your best friend's name? I remember that night you know. When I killed him. He was such a coward. . . . didn't have the decency to stay and fight, just tried to run. . . " Odile knew this was a lie, but she didn't care. She kept on talking, getting a sort of high from the raw emotions on Sirius's face.   
"He didn't get very far of course. I immobilised him, and he begged me for mercy. . . promised me anything, to let him go. Promised me Lily. . . " Odile licked her thin lips, reviving her voice. ". . . Promised me Harry. . . "   
"That's not true, you lying snake!"   
"How do you know? You weren't there, now were you? He disgusted me. You should be grateful I killed him quickly. Lily was just the same; she grovelled and begged, but at least she had more honour than James. . . of course, a jackal would have more honour than him. . . "   
"Shut up!"   
Odile noticed a look in Voldemort's now-blue eyes; a sort of jealousy, that he couldn't be here, hitting nerves in just the right place to make his anger rise and his fear swell.   
They had left the company of the Aurors long ago, streaking across the dark London sky, just the four of them; Sirius, herself, Voldemort, and Maggie, still unconscious.   
"And do you know the best part? I'm glad that Harry's still alive, because then the hunt goes on ever longer. You've a predatory nature; you know as well as I do that it's not the kill that makes your adrenaline pound, your emotions rush,. . . It's the hunt. Following, tracking a trail, tracking a quarry that can never escape you. . . No matter how hard it tries. And then you find them. . . Like a jungle beast, you stalk them, pinning them to the wall, seeing the blatant fear in their eyes, knowing that there is no escape for them. . . and you exult in it, you drink it in and crave more. . .Then, when their delicious, rich emotions have reached a crescendo, and you are full to bursting with them, you leap down upon and tear their life away from them, as a tiger tears away their throat, and watch them run away red, into the ground, as you capture their spirit, drinking like a rich heady liquor, the ultimate drink, and the only thing to slake your thirst. And I will do it to Harry. I will hunt him down, and when I catch up with him. . . He's going to die. Just like his father. Begging me for mercy. . . . "   
"SHUT UP!"   
Sirius kicked her hard in the face, sending a wave of pain shooting through her head. Blood flowed from her nose.   
"Oh, brave, Black. I applaud you. What an amazing feat. Kick a guy when sh- when he's down. Truly, that is a medalworthy achievements." But Odile was beginning to be worried, because now a look was coming over Sirius' face, One she did not in the least like. It was the same look a child wears when he has pulled all the legs off of a spider on one side, and watches it motor its remaining limbs, trying to escape, but going only in a neat little circle.   
"Talk all you want, Voldemort. That forked tongue of yours isn't going to impress the Dementors much."   
There was a sharp intake of breath on her left. Her mother had wakened and she hadn't even realised it. "D-dementors?" she asked tremblingly.   
"That's right, ma'am," Black sneered. Three heads turned to look at the bleak island upon which they were descending, where several skeletal, black cloaked figures had already gathered to greet them.   
"Welcome to Azkaban, Voldemort. Hard bread, filthy water and evil empaths 24/7, for the rest of your lives. Enjoy the accommodations."   
Then, they landed. "I'm sorry about this," Sirius said sarcastically, "but I'm going to have to knock you out. Can't have you seeing where you are and all."   
He took out his wand, and the next thing Odile knew was blackness.   
When she awoke, she was in a bare stone cell, with a hard pallet, presumably for sleeping upon, and sink and toilet in the corner. Not even worse than the orphanage; she'd had to share the lavatory there with twenty other girls. But the Dementors - they were worse than she had even imagined. She was immediately beset by a wave of horror and sadness that made her feel faint. She sat on the bed, sobbing raggedly, hearing the strange hissing and making no effort to prevent it. The feeling strengthened as a dark - cloaked figure passed near the cell door. "It iss'n fair..." she whispered. "It sshouldn't be allowed..."   
She felt a surge of anger at the thought that this Dementor, this abomination, was stealing her very self. "They sshould all be desstroyed." Her anger remained, and she revelled in it, that this last shred of defiance was available to her yet. She rose. "I'll destroy you all!" she shouted as another figure passed by.   
"Who, me?" A girl's voice. Familiar. Odile stared into the visage she looked at every morning in the mirror. "How'd you get out?" she asked, in a voice all too harsh and pale, a voice that belonged to the long - dead.   
"How do you think? 'The Dementors will join us; they are our natural allies.' I offered them the lives of many; they could feel my powers even without my wand, in your Muggle body. They agreed. We shall free the others, and escape from here!" It was eerie, hearing her voice speak like that, triumphantly but with a sort of cruel elation.   
Just then, the starling showed up. She shimmered, and in a moment was Maggie.   
"Stupid things," she said. "I hopped through the bars, and they didn't even notice me fly off."   
Something had occurred to Odile. "How are we going to escape?" she queried. "You don't have your wands, and Maggie certainly can't fly that far."   
"We'll just have to wait for the monthly inspection," Voldemort replied. "We can't even summon up our wands; Dumbledore-" he spit the name out as if it was a curse - "probably has them in a magic - proof safe by now."   
"So," sighed Odile, "we wait. I'm going to get some sleep. But first, could one of you get my door open?"   
Voldemort rolled his eyes and turned to the nearest Dementor, speaking to it briefly in a whispery, indistinct tongue that sounded like a combination of wind chimes and snakes trying to speak French. The Dementor nodded beneath its hood, turned to one of it's companions and gestured briefly. The second Dementor vanished, and returned momentarily with a key. It unlocked Odile's cell, and she stepped out, eyeing the Dementor warily. Even though they had "turned off" their emotional drainage, Odile still didn't trust them.   
Voldemort, however, seemed completely at ease. "As long as we're here, we may as well enjoy ourselves."   
"That could be harder than it looks," Maggie muttered.   
Odile nodded in solemn agreement. She didn't know about Voldemort, but she would have a hard time enjoying herself in this place. She looked around, her eyes flitting from her sullen mother, to Voldemort, chatting with the Dementors as if they were old friends, and decided she really didn't want to stick around anymore. She turned and walked down the cold, echoing hall, sinking into the absolute, deadly silence of Azkaban.   
As she stalked down the hall, trying not to look into the cells she passed, an arm shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.   
Odile yelped, but it came out a startled hiss. She whirled around, pulling free of the prisoner's viselike grip. She fixed the stranger with an ice cold glare, and found herself looking at a woman, tall and wraith thin, with a heavy brow, thick, dark hair, and eyes so dark a purple as to be black. Those eyes were wide with disbelief.   
"M-my lord?"   
Odile stared at her. "Who are you?"   
The woman's face fell. "You do not remember me. Yes. Well, I had hoped. . ." Her voice was bitter now. "It's not like I matter, I was only one of your most loyal Death Eaters, I searched for you and even came here for my troubles, but who cares, I didn't really expect. . ."   
"Mrs. Lestrange?" hissed Odile incredulously.   
The woman's face lit up. "Oh, you do remember! I knew you would! I knew you would not forget me, I knew it, I knew that you'd come for me., knew for every moment I spent in here, you'd murder a hundred Muggles! I can't believe it! What's going on outside? Have you won? Is the war over? What--" She did not even pause for breath, did not stop to wait for answers, reminding Odile of Hermione Granger, or at least, Hermione had she been insane. For Odile was sure, as Mrs Lestrange slipped from talking to her to talking to herself, that this woman had indeed lost her mind; thirteen years in Azkaban had seen to that.   
Odile turned and left, not wishing to hear any more. "Wait, don't go!" moaned Mrs Lestrange.   
"You are not forgotten. I will return."   
This seemed to console the poor woman, who fell silent as Odile disappeared.   
She found Voldemort alone when she returned, and was very happy for it.   
Voldemort was leaning against a cell, staring broodingly at the ceiling.   
Odile cleared her throat, and he jumped.   
"Ah, Odile. I was wondering where you had got off to."   
"Mrs Lestrange is here."   
"Ah, yes, the Dementors were telling me. It appears her husband died only a few weeks ago. Well, I've been meaning to have a chat with Mrs. Kali Lestrange." He turned and started to walk away.   
"But---Maggie., where--"   
"On the roof," Voldemort snapped.   
A few minutes later, Odile herself stood on the prison roof, feeling the chill night air. She couldn't see well, for mists obscured her vision, but she could make out a faint, dark green figure, and walked over to sit beside it.   
Not much was said for a while, then, finally Maggie said, softly, "Hello, Odile" her voice was cool, and without inflection.   
"Hello, Maggie. Is something wrong?"   
Maggie turned to her, the look on her face telling Odile that that last question had been somewhat idiotic, and opened her mouth to say something, but was stopped by a scream. Not the scream of a tormented prisoner; the cry wasn't human, and it came from above. Odile and Maggie leapt to their feet, and as they watched, the mists slowly parted, and a huge, fiery eyed white stallion simply dropped out of the sky, screaming again and landing gracefully before them.   
Astride it was a figure in a long black cloak, a huge scythe slung over one skeletal shoulder.   
Maggie stared in profound disbelief. "Thanatos?!"   
HELLO, MAGGIE, said a cold, level voice.   
"What are you doing here?" Maggie practically shrieked.   
I CAME TO RESCUE YOU, Death said, and Odile detected a hint of   
self reproach in His tone. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WOULDN'T NEED MUCH RESCUING. 

Maggie seemed about to correct him. "Well, actually we do have just a bit of a problem. YOU SEE, -"   
YOU, REUNITED WITH YOUR - OUR DAUGHTER, WHO IS CURRENTLY INHABITING THE BODY OF THE MOST POWERFUL WIZARD IN THE WORLD, WHO JUST HAPPENS TO HAVE ABSOLUTE POWER OVER BOTH OF YOU DUE TO A LITTLE BARGAIN I WAS FORCED TO MAKE? AND ON AN ISLAND WITH ODD, FRIGHTENING CREATURES WHO OBEY HIS EVERY WHIM? AND HUMANS WHO WOULD BE INDEBTED FOREVER TO HIM IF THEY SET HIM FREE? YOU DON'T HAVE A PROBLEM AT ALL. NOT YET. BUT AS SOON AS HE SEES NO USE FOR YOU, AS SOON AS HE SEES HIS PATH TO DOMINION OVER EARTH DOES NOT REQUIRE YOU ANYMORE, HE WILL BE ABSOLUTELY RUTHLESS IN YOUR REGARD. AND YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO WITHSTAND HIM. SO YOU DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM YET. AND YOU HAD BEST MAKE SURE YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL TO HIS PLAN, OR I WILL BE SEEING YOU RATHER SOONER THAN I LIKE. He said this last with a mild sort of laughter in his voice, as much as his voice could be said to be able to laugh. FARE YE WELL, MY MAGPIE, AND YOU ALSO, ODILE. I WILL BE WATCHING YOU. And he was gone, into the wind.   
They were silent for a time. "I wish he'd let me say hello to Binky," Odile said. "I remember that is the horse's name."   
"Yes," said Maggie. "I used to loved riding him. It was after I got out of Hogwarts, you know. I'd already met him - my mother had introduced us, back when the old Earth gods first decided to take up residence on the Disc. He was a lot colder then - more businesslike. But after Ysabell - his adopted daughter - ran off with his apprentice, he decided it was time for a stronger commitment. You should meet Ysabell, actually. She's several hundred years older than you, but she's a nice girl." They sat in silence for a while again.   
"Let's go back inside," Odile decided. They got up wearily, and descended the sloped roof to get to the trapdoor. Once they were both down, they turned into the corridor. And stared at the absolute chaos going on around them. 

Well, that's it for now; part 3 will be coming eventually...   
~Roanaz & Jessica S Jade 


	3. Onward with the Plotline!

Ookay! Here it is, the third installment of the trials of You-Know-Who as he - umm, he - ummm, he wanders around with two weird gals, one of which he has exchanged bodies with! Wotta plot! This story will make no sense unless you read Epic, Eldritch Events Involving Voldemort parts one and two_ first. _That's FIRST ! not after, but if you haven't read them click BACK and find them and READ them. And review please! And review this one too, but again, read it before you do so!   
Again, much thanks to co-author Jessica S Jade, without whom i would be RULING THE WORLD! ARRGH!... (No, seriously, this story wouldn't exist without her.) Anyway, on with the show! 

Part Three 

Screams filled the air, as dementors swarmed all over like locusts to a   
field of wheat. Everywhere, cell doors had been thrown open, the prisoners dragged bodily out by their captors and held tightly, unable to escape. Odile stepped back as a dementor opened the door to the nearest cell and dragged out the prisoner within, (a heavyset middle-aged man with sunken, sleepy eyes). The prisoner shook his head groggily, and looked sleepily at the dementor. The dementor, still holding the man's neck in one hand, reached up with the other, and pulled off its hood.   
Maggie screamed; Odile tried, but her cry lost its nerve and refused to leave her throat. She had read about what a dementor looked like, but that was nothing compared to what she saw now.   
The dementor's skin was slimy, grey and scabbed, the nails at the end of the gnarled hands grimy but very sharp claws. Odile could see the thin layer of skin stretched over empty eye sockets. The dementor threw back its head and sucked in the chill air raggedly, and Odile felt a terrifyingly cold shock through her. Then the dementor turned back to face the man in its clutch, and. . . smiled. It's rotting grey lips pulled back in a bizarre, insane , cruel grin, revealing needle-like teeth. The man seemed to 'wake' from his daze, and screamed.   
Too late.   
The dementor's head snapped down and fastened its jaws on the man's mouth. The teeth dug into the man's fleshy, sweaty cheeks, as blood ran in rivulets down the side of his face. The dementor's throat was jerking, expanding, then becoming smaller, as if it were drinking, partaking of something so delicious that the dementor couldn't be bothered to breath, even. The man's eyes rocketed around in their sockets, shooting wildly about, and his throat worked as he screamed and gasped alternatively, but the dementors grip was so tight that air could neither enter nor escape his mouth. Odile wanted to cry, wanted to run away, wanted to be sick, but her body would obey none of these commands, and she stayed there, rooted to the spot, watching the dementor suck away the man's soul.   
At last, the dementor seemed satisfied, and slowly retracted its bloodied teeth from the man's face, slowly, reluctantly releasing its victim, letting what was left of the prisoner fall to the floor. The man's eyes were rolled back into his head so far that only the whites were visible, and his mouth was ringed with blood which still poured from his wounds. His hands twitched convulsively, and he shook as if having some sort of seizure.   
As Odile watched in horror, something wispy and silvery blue rose out of the man's open mouth, like smoke from an extinguished candle flame. But the dementor drew another long, death rattling breath, and the wisp of. . . whatever it was. . . . vanished.   
Then the dementor turned toward her, and, even though its face wasn't human, she could tell its expression; complete ecstasy, like a drug high, wild, insane bliss. Then it bared its teeth in another terrifying grin, and started toward her.   
Odile let out a strangled hiss of fear, and backed against the wall. The dementor gilded toward her, its face menacing and hungry. Odile's heart thumped in her chest. The nightmare drew ever nearer. Soon, she would be the one feeling those needle sharp teeth stabbing into her face. . .   
She would feel those cold hands on her throat. . . The last thing she ever felt would be her fear, raw, untamed, and wild.   
"Get away from her, you bastard!" someone yelled. Dazedly, Odile saw Maggie standing a little ways off, pointing a wand at the dementor. It looked at her briefly, then opted to ignore her and turned its attention back on Odile. It was so close. . . she could feel it's hot, cloying breath on her face. . . She was being smothered. . .She was going to die. . .   
"Expecto Patronum!" yelled Maggie. The tip of her wand exploded into a silver apparition of a tall, cloaked figure astride a magnificent horse, swinging a scythe at the dementor, who hissed angrily at the approaching Patronus, but glided away, leaving Odile to slump to the floor.   
Unable to hold it in any longer, she lowered her head and wept, hot tears flowing down her face, harsh sobs racking her frail body. The screams echoed around her, and she heard voices just above her head. One was Maggie's. . .The other her own. . . Maggie screamed something. . . Then, there was absolute silence. . .   
Then darkness.. . . .   
Odile woke to the gentle lapping of water against something solid and unyielding. The sound of surf was in her ears, and familiar, salty scent of the sea in her nostrils. She opened on eyes and saw that she was in a small boat, with Maggie facing her and Voldemort to her right. They were facing down, their faces stony.   
Odile searched for and found her voice. "What. . . what was that?"   
Maggie's head snapped up, and an expression of intense relief filled her haggard, tired face. "Odile!"   
In a moment, Maggie was at Odile's side, her arms wrapped tight around her daughter. At first Odile was taken aback, but then warmed to this display, letting her mother hold her and cry over her, sampling this strange, unfamiliar feeling. She realised Maggie was crying, and that brought forth new tears, but silent ones, this time.   
When they finally broke apart, Odile turned to Voldemort. "I repeat," she said shakily. "What was that?"   
"A refrigerator raid," said Voldemort grimly. Odile noticed he looked a bit ill. "I told the dementors we'd be leaving in a few days, and they figured that since they weren't coming back, they might as well . . indulge themselves."   
The image of the prisoner, his mouth ringed with blood, and the leering dementor sprang to Odile's mind. She shook her head violently and suppressed the nausea that rose in her stomach. She turned to Maggie.   
"Where did you get that wand?" she asked her eyes flicking to the wand in Maggie's hand.   
"When that dementor started .. . feasting, I . . .ran. I'm sorry. I know you needed me. But I've had so many friends lost to those beasts, I wasn't going to lose my daughter. Anyway, I found a wand in the office at the end of the hall--"   
"Whose is it?"   
"Who cares? I came back, and, well, you saw what happened."   
"Yeah. Nice Patronus. I think I passed out right after that."   
Maggie's face wore a proud, devilish grin. "One of my better moments. I froze all the dementors, and then--"   
"She Apparated the prisoners away to somewhere that she won't TELL me about!" said Voldemort angrily.   
"--Then I conjured up a boat and we left."   
"So, where are we going?"   
Maggie laughed harshly. "Away from that slaughter house. To where, I don't know."   
Voldemort did not look pleased. Odile's mouth quirked into a half grin.   
Maggie had done exactly what Death had suggested. She had made herself valuable.   
"One last question; What were you doing?"   
Voldemort gritted his teeth. "Trying to stop them. They wouldn't listen to me."   
Odile raised an eyebrow. "You? What has the world come to?"   
Voldemort looked at her sourly. "It's you two. You're having a bad influence on me." 

Thousands of miles away, Fudge looked at his copy of the Daily Prophet while sipping his morning tea. "YOU-KNOW-WHO IN AZKABAN!" screamed the headlines. " 4 injured, 51 dead in skirmish with Dark Lord," read the subtitle. There was no mention of who had finally captured him. Fudge was in shock. It had to be an imposter! Voldemort could NOT have returned, no matter what Dumbledore had told him. It just wasn't logical. It was an imposter, he told himself; that was all. A shame all those Aurors were killed, though. But - why had they been there in the first place? A thought struck him. Dumbledore!   
As if the very thought had summoned it, a dark grey owl swooped through the window, depositing a single sheet of paper. 

_Fudge. Get this into your head. VOLDEMORT is back! I thought I had him locked out in London, but he must have found some backup. Intensely powerful backup - he killes fify out of fifty - five Aurors, and the others are in critical condition. And he didn't even have time to prepare anything! H'es probably off of Azkaban by now. I want all the Seers to start looking for him. This is vital._   
_ Dumbledore_   


Preposterous! Even if he was in Azkaban, (and it must have been a hoax,) there was no way he could have escaped. And the rest of the letter, and what it asked, no - demanded - of him was simply insane. Occupy all the Seers on some wild goose chase? Never! Dumbledore had gone too far this time. He was going to have a job of it as it was, even without interference - his Unspeakables would have to go back and stop the article from being written, and that always caused paradox, which was devilish to sort out. Fudge took out a piece of official notepaper and began to write. 

_Dumbledore:_   
_ What you are asking of me is preposterous. There is no proof that_   
_he is back; The only ones to see him are currently in St Mungo's, and they have most likely suffered brain damage. There is no reason to believe they are speaking truthfully. If you insist, I WILL write to the dementors to see if he is truly in Azkaban. But I will not have every Seer in the country run about on some wild goose chase. Think of what this could do to my career!_   
_No, Dumbledore, I think you are just being paranoid. Voldemort has not returned, and I refuse to be caught up in your false hysteria._   
_ Sincerely,_   
_ Cornelius Fudge_

Dumbledore finished reading the letter and placed it on his desk, his face rigid and set. His gaze, normally so calm and serene, now icy, drifted from Minerva, mouth grim and angry, eyes narrowed, to Severus, snarling in contempt and barely concealed rage, to the hulking black shape in the corner, whose eyes flashed angrily.   
"As you can see," Albus said levelly, "The Ministry of Magic will be of no help in this matter. As we cannot officially alert the Seers, Minerva, I want you to ask Professor Trelawney to conduct an Aura search. And-" he added as an afterthought, "Parvati Patil. She is at the school at the moment. . . . yes, we need all the help we can get."   
Minerva nodded grimly and strode out.   
Dumbledore waited for the creak and slam of the door swinging back into its frame before turning back to the other two still in his study. "Now, Severus, Sirius, I wish to hear your suggestions."   
The gigantic black dog padded out of the shadows, and, for some odd reason, gave Severus a very wide berth. It strode over to the other remaining empty chair, transformed into the thin, scruffy looking form of Sirius Black, and sat down.   
Severus, for once, did not even give his former enemy a passing glance. "Kill him," he snarled, his eyes flashing with rage, and something more; a lust for revenge that mirrored the look on Sirius' face. "I'm not sure how, but I know I can think of something!"   
"For once, I agree with him," Sirius said coldly. "I don't give a damn any more about capturing him, or Azkaban, or anything like that. Death is the only thing he deserves. Especially after what he's done now." Once again, Sirius carefully avoided looking at Severus, and Dumbledore had a feeling Black wasn't simply referring to the deaths of the Aurors.   
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "You know that I would be the last person to deny either of you revenge. And you know also that there are few who deserve it more than the two of you. But unfortunately, there is little we can do at the moment. We must simply wait to hear the results of Sybill's aura-search. Oh, and will you inform Potter, Sirius? I believe that he ought to know and is mature enough to handle it calmly."   
Sirius and Severus both nodded, and Dumbledore noted, for all their differences, how alike they really were. Tired looking, pale, wraith thin, with the hollow, empty look in their eyes that came with great suffering.   
No, he decided, these two needed their revenge more than anyone he knew. 

* * * *

"Concentrate my dear, and try to reach past the barriers of the mundane."   
Parvati closed her brown eyes as Professor Trelawney's words swirled around her, trying to relax and let herself go, to let herself float out, past the walls of the castle, past the magical barriers within the walls.   
She had left her body completely. . . she was floating. . . now flying. . . Out, over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. . . Over the Hogsmeade rooftops. . . over great skyscrapers and rolling farmland. . . She had left land completely . . . She was over water. . . All around, nothing but miles of blue. . . . And a boat. . . three figures. . . Webs. . . . velvet black and scarlet threads... maroon and green and--   
--All at once, she was looking into Professor Trelawney's orb-like eyes, wider than ever in anticipation. "Did you see anything, my dear?"   
Parvati shook her head to clear it. "A boat. . . three people. . . I think one of them was You Know Who. . . But it was confusing. . . "   
"Did you see His aura?"   
"I think so. It was spidery, like a web, sort of rigid and cold. . . "   
"What colours was it? Deep Black and scarlet?"   
"No. . . deep green. . . with dark maroon threads. . . "   
Trelawney sighed. "Ah, well. You performed admirably, my dear. Perhaps. . . . next time." 

Harry was in the Gryffindor common room, working on his essay for Arithmancy, (he had finally dropped Divination and he was finding it much more up his alley,) when he got the owl. It flew in the open window, dropped a folded sheet of paper on his essay, and left. Harry only had time to notice that it was a Hogwarts owl before it disappeared into the early-morning fog, presumably to return to the Owlery.   
He picked up the note, and was surprised to see that, from the handwriting, the letter was from Sirius, and he must have been in rather a hurry. But why was he using a school owl?   
_ Dear Harry, _(The note read,)   
_I need you to be in Dumbledore's office at about nine tonight; there is a very serious matter we need to talk about. You know where it is; the current password is Treacle Tart. Will see you there._   
_ Sirius_   
Harry looked at the clock. It was seven- thirty. He folded the letter and tried to concentrate on Arithmancy, but it was no use. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew that Voldemort was abroad, but the Ministry of Magic had apparently been perpetrator of the most successful cover-up in wizarding history, and neither he nor the public knew anything more than that.   
Finally, it was eight forty-five. Harry walked quietly out of the common room, and started down the long winding passageways and staircases that led to Dumbledore's office.   
Dumbledore sat in his office, reading his correspondence. Sirius was there too, waiting for Harry. Dumbledore was just about to reach for quill to reply to Lucius's letter when a great horned owl flew in the window and dropped a letter on the desk before swooping out again. Dumbledore picked up the letter and opened it; it was on Fudge's personal stationary. 

_Dumbledore:_   
_ I have written the Dementors. They replied promptly, but the letter was confused and nearly illegible. I am enclosing it, but I see no need for further investigation. Voldemort is obviously not in their care, and it was obviously an accident of some kind that killed the Aurors._   
_ Sincerely,_   
_ Cornelius Fudge_

Dumbledore picked up the folded slip of parchment that had fallen out of the envelope and smoothed it on the table. The words were printed in jagged, unsteady capitals, obviously written in great haste, and many were smudged and unreadable. 

_Three came… one femail, one not and other. Notlife, deathsmell about them… name themselves Magee, Ohdeel, not not not…taste of ambition, anger much anger… femail go, not found…she healthy other notwell… other DEAD! He/she/it is… dead and comes death… much feeding… anger and fear and feeding… so much anger! They not… found boat…still feeding…fear and anger, anger gone, but were…_

At the end of this was one long smudge. Dumbledore re-read it, eyes squinting as he tried to make the sense of the message. As he did so, he heard Sirius rise to great Harry.   
Harry, at the age of fifteen, was endeavouring, like Hermione, to act more mature and composed than he had in the past, but that veneer ran away and hid as soon as he saw Sirius. He embraced his godfather, who smiled wanly at him, his shockingly blue eyes alight with happiness.   
"Nice to see you, Harry," Sirius said quietly.   
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Harry, Sirius, please be seated.   
"As you know, the Ministry of Magic is hiding something. Actually, they are hiding two somethings; two very large somethings, on of which you are already aware.   
"The first, of course, is that Voldemort has returned."   
"The second," Sirius said, "is that he and two Death Eaters have been captured and taken to Azkaban. I took them there myself."   
"Indeed. But I have just received a letter from Cornelius Fudge. He enclosed with his letter a letter he received from the dementors of Azkaban."   
At his words, Sirius' face darkened with an implacable hate.   
Dumbledore continued. "I would like you both to read it now." He handed the letter to Sirius, who read it, eyes narrowing, and passed it to Harry, a perplexed look on his face. Harry wore a similar expression of confusion as he placed the letter on Dumbledore's desk.   
"What do you make of it?" Dumbledore asked.   
"Hmm. . . ." Sirius' eyes were thoughtful. "Let's see. According to this, a woman and two others arrived at Azkaban. Apparently, the other two were sexless."   
"Is that possible?" Harry asked.   
"Oh, yes. There are many magical creatures that have neuter as well as male and female members. Unicorns, for example. Dementors are all neuters. Anyway, it's like they're saying this 'Odheel' isn't who he/she/it says they are. They barely mention the third. They don't even tell us the name."   
"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Now, is that simply because the   
dementors don't know?"   
"Or maybe they don't want to tell us?" Harry finished.   
"But. . . . Oh!" Sirius exclaimed. "Voldemort!"   
"It is premature to leap to conclusions. But it is possible that the third was Voldemort. My suggestion is that we send somebody to Azkaban to inspect it,"   
"-And possibly read the dementor's minds to find out who they were?"   
"Exactly. And I know a very powerful psychic who may be able to help us. . . " 

* * * * The ocean was completely still, eerily calm. The tiny boat floating across it left barely a ripple. The early morning sun turned the water a crimson shade that gradually diluted into deep purples and indigos. There was not a cloud to be seen, and the sky was streaked with scarlet, gold and lavender. Maggie sighed in admiration. Back when she was young, she'd fancied herself a poet, although she hadn't been all that good at it. Still, sunrises, especially ones such as these, were just begging to be written about.   
She watched it for another few minutes, and reluctantly, thought about their situation.   
"Maggie, what have you gotten yourself into?" she muttered. Here she was, floating somewhere in the middle of the ocean, for cryin' out loud, and not only that, but with her daughter AND the most powerful dark wizard in the world, who at the moment wasn't very powerful at all. That at least, was something of a relief; As long as Voldemort was in Odile's body, he was cut off from the magical currents that had made him so powerful.. But she still had to be wary. Even without his magical talent, his mind was as sharp and treacherous as ever. It was Odile that concerned her. She was a danger to herself and everyone around her. Unless she learned to harness and control the powers she suddenly had access too, she get them all killed. What she needed was training. Oh, yeah, right, like she's gonna be able to go to Hogwarts anyway. Damn. I'm in a rut.   
Maggie sighed and looked at the other two in the boat. Both were asleep; it was comforting to know that Voldemort did indeed need to rest occasionally. She bit her hand to keep from laughing out loud; In his new form, sprawled on the side of the boat, blonde hair straggling into his face, he looked almost. . .   
One blue eye opened and glared at her. "One remark about how cute I look and I will throttle you."   
Maggie grinned. "I wasn't going to say anything."   
Voldemort grumbled something unintelligible, and the eye closed. 

Odile awoke, the red eyes of the body she inhabited bleary with sleep, and showing a gentleness that they had never shown before the - transfer. She shook her head. "Why can't we change back?" she complained. "I'm getting so seasick, and I crossed the English Channel in a storm and I was fine."   
Maggie smiled ruefully. "To tell the truth, I don't know. It must have something to do with your metaphysical connection, or just because of the nature of the transference. What I do know is that whenever any of us tries to do anything vaguely magical involving him, (here she pointed her thumb at the slumbering Voldemort) it either doesn't work and we get a headache, or it doesn't work in a spectacular manner and we get knocked unconscious by the backlash." The last time it had upset the boat, and both Odile and Voldemort had had to sit shivering on top of the upturned hull while they waited for Maggie to revive and use her wand. The best that she could do was to provide a shield to keep warm, food, and a wind that blew them in the same direction regardless of current or other winds; if she tried to keep too many spells running at the same time, her wand would "overload" and would be useless for quite a while afterward. "But we ought to get to land soon, we're going quite fast."   
As if to prove her point, Odile heard the cry of some sort of seabird. Looking up, she saw that it was a seagull. It was holding something in its foot, and was dogfighting with another. As she watched, it dropped the thing, which landed next to the boat. Odile picked it up. It was a half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich, wrapped in a piece of soaked newspaper. Maggie silently took the paper from Odile (who threw the sandwich back at the gull,) and started drying it on the end of her wand, which she had heated to a rather high temperature. "It's… umm… yesterday's date. October 29. It's from the San Francisco Chronicle. So that means…"   
"We must have travelled halfway around the world!" exclaimed Odile. San Francisco is on the east - no, west coast of the States! That's amazing! We ought to get there soon…   
At that point Voldemort decided to join the conversation. This body awoke quite gradually, too slowly for his taste, and he had been collecting his wits. Maggie was no longer a young woman, and the eyes Voldemort had - evolved - were better for seeing in the dark and intimidating people than anyone else's. Odile was young, however, and so the eyes which she had seen out of until recently were the most accurate of the three pairs. Now Voldemort squinted out onto the horizon, towards the sun.   
"There's a dark line out there. I think it's mountains," he announced.   
Soon the boat had moved near enough that even Maggie could see the jagged line of the California Coastal Range and, tiny specks in the distance, the fishing boats drawing in their nets and coming up with saleable items for the San Francisco fish markets.   
Maggie turned to Odile. "I'm going to have to do a minor illusionary spell, so you will, and I use the term loosely, blend in with the rest on San Francisco. Come to that, you probably don't need it, but just be on the safe side. . . " she waved her wand and muttered under her breath. When she put down her wand, Odile didn't feel any different, (Besides the obvious), but her mother nodded in satisfaction and pocketed the wand. Odile looked over the edge of the boat. She saw her reflection in the clear blue water, and was surprised to note that little had changed. The biggest change by far was that she had eyebrows; pencil thin black lines with a high arch. She also had more of a nose, very small, but at least human. There was more colour to her face, and her eyes had gone from slit pupiled red to her familiar ice-blue. When she opened her mouth, she observed that her teeth were somewhat flatter.   
"Of course, it's only skin deep," Maggie was saying. "I don't want to physically change you at ALL, not after what happened last time."   
"You know, we probably shouldn't dock in the middle of Fisherman's Wharf," snapped Voldemort. "Boatloads of English fugitives don't wash up on American shores every day."   
"Hmm. Good point." Maggie called up another wind that blew them to a secluded point just east of the Golden Gate Bridge.   
"Hmm. It doesn't look that Golden to me," Odile muttered, stepping out of the boat.   
"My experience with America is that it's not all it's cracked up to be," Maggie said, stretching gratefully after days in their cramped boat.   
Voldemort was a few steps behind her.   
"On the other hand, the scenery's not bad," said Odile, looking out at the sparkling bay, touched with sunrise golds and scarlets, the green rolling hills and the impressive San Francisco skyline.   
"Beats London, anyway," said Voldemort grudgingly, as if reluctant to be in any kind of positive temperament.   
"Hey you! Stop right there!"   
Maggie whirled around. Uniformed figures emerged all around them.   
"Aurors?" hissed Odile and Voldemort anxiously.   
"Nope," Maggie muttered. "Policemen."   
"Oh, now this is undignified," groaned Voldemort. "The great 'He Who Must Not Be Named' brought in by Muggle cops? What a joke."   
"It's not gonna happen," snapped Maggie. Throwing caution to the winds, she whipped out her wand and cast the Apparition spell. There was a brief moment of dizziness, then, all of a sudden, everything stopped. A voice spoke out of everywhere and nowhere.   
"You cant get rid of him that easily," taunted the voice. Maggie realised she could look around her. To her left was Voldemort, looking puzzled and enraged, ahead of her was Embarcadero centre, where she'd meant to apparate to, but. . .where was Odile?   
"Your daughter's mind and schoolmate's body are unable to follow you," the voice continued. It had a trace of mocking laughter in it. "I'm afraid the latter is bound from Apparition. And you, Maggie are bound to your daughter in both forms; mind and body. So I'm afraid I can't let you go just yet. Dreadfully sorry, you know how it is."   
"Who are you?" Voldemort said angrily.   
"Wouldn't you like to know, puny one?" laughed the voice. Voldemort grit his teeth.   
The voice continued, "You amuse me; I will tell you this. I am more power than you could ever hope of becoming. No matter how hard you try, I shall always be just ahead of you. You are second rate compared to me. You will always be second rate. So you may as well give up now. Tom."   
And with that, Maggie found herself back on the little jut of land, with a bewildered Odile on one side and an enraged Voldemort on the other.   
And, of course, a ring of policemen closing in around them. 

Yes, another cliffhanger... (listens gleefully to tortured moans.) Please review!   
~ Roanaz 


	4. San Francisco

I know you don't want to read a long intro... they have _fun_ in San Francisco! 

The policemen were obviously bewildered; they had just seen two of the three fugitives disappear, and reappear a few seconds later. "What's going on, sergeant?" one of them hissed to the one in charge.   
"I don't know…" the other replied. Then, to Maggie and the other two, "Put your hands up and don't move!"   
Maggie decided to take charge. Lifting her hands into the air, and motioning for the others to do the same, she put a bewildered expression on her face and spoke. "What's - what's going on?" she asked, deliberately exaggerating her accent. "Why are we in trouble?"   
"There was a report of some fugitives escaping from San Quentin," the sergeant replied. "They were observed in a small boat, but landed somewhere near here before they could be apprehended."   
"Well, we didn't see anyone," Maggie said, her voice quavering. "We were sailing in Rick's boat - he's my cousin who lives here in San Fran - and we sprang a leak…"   
The sergeant seemed to relax. He lowered his gun, and his companions did likewise. "We'll still have to take you in for questioning," he said. "Let's go to our boat; we can tow yours behind it." They started towards a dock Maggie had not noticed, with a police boat floating gently beside it. Just then, they heard a loud thump, and some emphatic swearing, followed by an angry whisper: "….shutup….police….!" The policemen were immediately on guard; they drew their guns and looked in the direction of the whisper. The sergeant motioned for Maggie and the others to withdraw behind some bushes, which they did quickly and silently, while the policemen advanced on the figures to the far side of the boat.   
"This might be a good time to leave," observed Odile. Voldemort nodded, and keeping behind the row of bushes, they advanced up the incline until they reached pavement. From there, they walked on towards the city.   
"What do we do now - what's our objective?" Odile asked as they walked among the buildings.   
"I don't really know," Maggie replied.   
Suddenly, a scream rang out from one of the high windows of apartment building. They all looked up instinctively. The scream repeated, higher and more insistent. Maggie looked around, and, seeing the street was deserted - a strange thing for San Francisco - commanded, "Don't look." Odile and Voldemort obediently shut their eyes, and when they opened them again Maggie was gone, and an oversize starling was winging its way almost straight up. It flew in the open window the scream had emanated from, and was out of view for only a moment before diving back down. Odile shut her eyes a moment too late, and had a glimpse of nauseously swirling colours and shapes. Then, Maggie was standing their, gasping for breath. "There… a woman… Muggle… being attacked by a snake…"   
Odile gave a start, but Voldemort looked bored. "Why should I care about a Muggle?"   
Maggie continued. "and there's a lot of broken glass… the snake must have been a pet and gotten out… it looks half starved…"   
That touched a nerve. Voldemort grabbed Maggie's arm, more roughly than if Odile had been in the body, and growled harshly, "Take me there!"   
Maggie pointed her wand at the doors of the building and muttered some words before turning to Odile. "It's open. I can't Apparate you, so take the stairs. Fifth floor, I should say. I'll mark the door." With that, she and Voldemort were gone. Odile turned, and sprinted for the door of the building. She ran up the flights of stairs, nearly knocking down an elderly man who shook his fist angrily as she passed by. Finally, she reached the fifth floor.   
Maggie had been as good as her word. On the third door to the left, there was a slightly shimmering hourglass surmounted by what must have been a stylised starling - it was not black with white specks, but actually looked like a bird-shaped piece of night sky. Not noticing, Odile pushed open the door and walked through the hall until she got to the bedroom, where she viewed a scene as chaotic as Maggie had described.   
There was a Muggle woman lying on the bed, with several bleeding cuts and a livid face and bruises on her neck. By the foot of the bed, Maggie was carefully picking up jagged pieces of glass and putting them in the remains of what had been a terrarium, and Voldemort was feeding a large chunk of raw meat to a very large snake which Odile identified as an anaconda. The outlines of the snake's ribs were clearly visible. Voldemort looked up from his task in outrage. "Look at this!" he exclaimed. "He's at least fifteen feet long, and they kept him in this tiny tank! It's only the size for - for a rattlesnake! And they fed him mice! Mice!"   
Maggie also looked up from her task. "Apparently - and the snake told him this - the snake's owners were not, shall we say, the most attentive keepers of a pet. This lady came in to clean, and - this part wasn't very clear - she knocked the top off in such a way that the snake could overturn the terrarium and escape. It was starved, and desperate enough to try and eat her. When we got here, it was coiled around her neck, and she was rolling around and getting cuts from the glass and cutting the snake."   
Voldemort spoke again. "His owners called him Huggy. But his name is Savwar. He's coming with us until he recovers." His tone was such that neither of them dared argue. Just then, the Muggle woman started groaning.   
Maggie made a decision. "Let's get out of here. She'll be fine. And we could get in a lot of trouble with the Muggle authorities if they catch us here. Come on." They all filed out the door, and Odile noticed that the sign had disappeared.   
They continued on down the street, Voldemort's small form staggering somewhat over the weight of Savwar. They still had no idea what they were going to do, Odile reflected, and now they had a snake to take care of. 

The "Voice" laughed to herself, and settled back on her comfortable platform.. She gave a little chuckle, and leaned back over her crystal ball. A few minutes of searching and her pawns appeared. The child, the witch and of course, the sorcerer. And a new pawn. . . The serpent. Hmmm. . . not any one of import, but useful. She watched as they nervously picked their way through the streets, earning many odd stares from passer-by. She smiled. Her ice-blue eyes blazed with hatred. Everything was going according to plan. And soon, revenge would be hers. . . .   
Sirius looked around Dumbledore's office once again, his survivor's mentality noting every possible exit and weapon, should the need arise. He looked down at Fawkes, perched on his wrist. "You don't happen to have any idea what's going on, do you?"   
The phoenix looked at him quizzically.   
"God, I must be losing it. I'm talking to a bird."   
Fawkes gave an indignant chirp.   
Dumbledore appeared suddenly, without fanfare or any forewarning, and looked across the desk at Sirius. "Hello, Sirius," he said. "Thank you for coming so quickly."   
"Not a problem. It's not as if I have anything to do. "   
"Good. I mentioned earlier that I knew a psychic who might be able to help us. I would like you to meet her now. Just so you two don't accidentally kill each other."   
"Oh what are you talking about, Dumbledore?" hissed a low, husky alto. "Would I do a thing like that?"   
Dumbledore laughed. "Sirius Black, may I introduce Kirai Magamino."   
From out of the shadows behind Dumbledore's desk stepped a woman, well over six feet tall. She was very thin, with prominent cheek bones and knee-length black hair. She looked Gothic; black high heels, A sleek black dress reaching past her knees, fishnet stockings, and an elegant black jacket. Her long, clawlike nails were painted dark purple, and her thin, half smiling lips were the same colour. She wore sunglasses, even in the dim light of the office. She was fashionably pale, and her face was indeed Japanese. She turned her head toward Sirius and gave him a sly look. She whipped off her sunglasses and tossed back her long, black hair, and looked at him seductively from under heavily made-up lashes. Sirius was caught and held by the power in her eyes. They were heavily slanted and almond shaped, with cold calculation in them. They were slitted like a cat's, and ice-blue. 

"Alright," said Maggie. "I've had enough of your complaining about 'heavy snakes'. But we have to figure out how to disguise Odile non-magically before I can make Savwar light."   
Voldemort smiled mentally; one of the advantages of being trapped in the body of a young Muggle was that, subconsciously, you were expected to behave like one, and he was using this advantage to the limit.   
"I have an idea," he stated. "You can go and get her a scarf and a hat or something, and gloves, so people can't see her face. And sunglasses."   
Maggie cocked her head. "Good idea." She dragged Odile into a nearby Gap. Voldemort waited outside with Savwar; he had the idea that the snake would not be welcome inside.   
Ten minutes later they were back out, Maggie having "purchased" the clothing (she had had no money, and the clerk waved them out with a befuddled 'Happy Fourth of July.') Odile was effectively wrapped up, and Savwar was, as promised, lightened so that he could be carried easily.   
"Where are we going anyway?" asked Odile, her voice muffled by the scarf; if one looked closely the scarf was flat where the nose should have been, but it wouldn't matter.   
"The Embarcadero centre; I've got a contact there."   
Voldemort frowned slightly; that could be a problem. He needed to meet some people of his own, and he couldn't have anyone else with him. He'd just have to lose them before long. He said nothing. 

Two gruelling hours later ( for none of them knew their way around San Francisco, and whenever they asked anyone for directions they inevitably turned out to be a tourist who spoke only German,) they arrived at the Embarcadero centre, tired, cold, and hungry. Voldemort looked around at the crowds of people and decided this would be a good place to get lost in. "I'm going to go find someplace to eat," he said. "I'll come back and tell you." With that, he was gone, Savwar draped around his slim shoulders. Odile and Maggie were leaning against each other, too exhausted to think. Voldemort was tired also, and he knew that the spell lightening Savwar would loose effect as he distanced himself from the caster, but he knew he had to get to his contact, and soon, before those traitorous Death Eaters found her. He walked purposely through the centre, ignoring the commotion caused by the appearance of a bewildered man and a scarlet-clad woman in the middle of a fountain. "Amateur apparaters," he grumbled under his breath. "The ministry'll be on them."   
After leaving the Embarcadero, he stopped and thought. The person he had to meet had a residence at 3159 California St. He might as well take a cable car instead of walking - but he had no money. Digging into Odile's pockets, he revised that - no American money. But he doubted that twenty pence would go very far by the exchange rates. He looked around. The rain had stopped, and the fog was rolling in. There was an alley nearby. Good. Voldemort sat down, and waited.   
A few minutes later, he was rewarded by the sound of running feet, and a man ran out of the fog, glancing over his shoulder. "Stop!" Voldemort shouted, and Savwar darted out, tripping the man. "I done it!" the man cried. "I did the jewellery robbery, and the cart hold-up, and I mugged those people! I'm guilty!"   
Voldemort was nonplussed. "Do you have the money?"   
"All right, all right, here it is," the man said, holding up a handful of American money and some coins of no currency that Voldemort recognised. "And I was the one broke into the dwarf bar and into the Unseen University and stole all that magic! And I - hey, you're not a Watchman!" With that, he slipped from Savwar's grip with surprising agility and ran back into the fog. Voldemort stared at his retreating back. He had the money he needed, but… "Why did you let him go?" he asked Savwar. No-one would believe him, the snake replied. And besides, he is not of this world. "How do you know?" Voldemort asked, surprised.   
The corners of Savwar's mouth turned up in a smile. How do you think?   
Stepping off the cable car, Voldemort walked up to the apartment building and looked at the directory. "Ah, here it is. D. Pard, apt. 3D." He pressed the intercom.   
"Hello?" the voice came over the tinny speaker. "Who is it?"   
"Marie Puthon. I've got a package for a Mr. Concolor at this address."   
There was a pause. "All right. Come on up."   
Voldemort ascended the stairs. There was no Mr. Concolor, of course, and Dinoa Pard was the name his contact used; her actual name was Black Jade. Apparently her family had a tradition of naming people for gemstones; he had previously met a Malachite and a Beryl. He reached the door, and knocked. It opened a crack. "What's the package of?"   
He hadn't expected this - Jade must be in a paranoid mood, he thought, not realising why she didn't recognise him. He thought quickly.   
"It's, umm, it's a little snake pendant. Made out of black jade."   
"Come in."   
Voldemort walked in, Savwar draped around his shoulders, and was immediately pounced upon by something large and black that he didn't see until it was too late.   
"oof!" He fell to the floor, almost crushing Savwar, who was quickly pinned under a massive paw. He looked up at Black Jade who was frowning angrily.   
"This is Velocifelis. I had to get a permit to keep him here, but he'll do whatever I want. Now who are you, and how do you know Voldemort?"   
Voldemort gulped, looking up at a pair of gloating golden eyes and extremely sharp fangs. The cat wasn't light, or discreet with its claws, and already his shoulders had a few nice punctures. It was also very hungry, and angry at this interruption in its daily routine. Hot, smelly cat breath washed over his face, making it hard to think. So he blurted out the most obvious, (to his mind) explanation:   
"I AM Voldemort, you idiot!"   
Her reaction was not quite what he'd expected. She was silent for a moment, then burst into gales of laughter. Not cruel laughter, either, but full of mirth, as if she had just heard something truly amusing. There was a groan of springs as she collapsed on to the couch, still howling with laughter. She finally got herself under control long enough to whisper something in Matounese, the language one used to speak to felines, and the leopard slunk off, immediately resuming its nap as if nothing had ever happened.   
Voldemort stood up and brushed himself off, indignant. He glared stonily at the laughing woman on the couch.   
"And just what is so funny?!"   
Jade just laughed. She tried speaking, but she was laughing too hard. Finally, she controlled her laughter long enough to speak. "Well," she chortled "last time I checked, Voldemort wasn't 4' 7", dressed in street clothes, and looking like a teenage girl!" she began laughing again.   
Voldemort's face reddened ass he realised his blunder. He looked at Black Jade, who was reclining on her dark blue vinyl couch, perfectly at ease and enjoying herself immensely.   
"I know I don't look it, but I am, you damn woman!"   
Jade laughed again. "Listen, you silly girl, why don't you go find your mummy or something?"   
Voldemort, if possible, became even angrier. "My mother died over 60 years ago in a Muggle hospital, then cursed me with my father's name! I've spent every day since dreaming of paying back all Muggles, and I'm not about to be stopped by some cat woman in a shabby old flat!!!" His hand were curled into fists, and flecks of spit flew from his mouth, as his whole body trembled with rage.   
Black Jade raised a pencil thin, black eyebrow. "Now, that sounds familiar." She laughed again. "Though I must say, Mister Riddle, that the change of attire is seriously a bad venture. Those colours don't suit you at all."   
He reddened with anger, but, having shot his mouth off already, he wasn't keen to do it again.   
Black Jade lounged on her couch in a distinctly feline way, and her eyes were half closed lazily. The room was draped with hangings of black and dark blue; velvet, silk, and canvas. The light was dim, and it was hard to see. (Another annoying reminder that he was seriously displaced; human eyes weren't worth a thing when it came to night vision.) Other than that, the room was bare of all decoration, leaving nowhere for the eyes to rest except Jade. All around her were cats; Some were domestic; tabbies, Siamese, Abbyssinian, Scottish folds, Burmese, and a few mixed breeds. But there were larger cats also; bobcats and lynxes, caracals and ocelots. And then, of course, were the leopards; two huge, black beasts, who flanked Jade on either side like honour guards. As for Black Jade herself. . . Well, she had assured him before that she was entirely human, but he found that extremely hard to believe. Her eyes, for one, were a pure gold in colour, though shaped normally, and her lashes long and thick. Her face bore no small resemblance to that of her companions; delicate and lovely. Cunning, proud and faintly amused, that was her expression, which showed in her half closed eyes and sensuous mouth. Her skin had a resoundingly golden look to it, and her jet black hair added to her exotic appearance. She wore a long sleeved, shapely dress of deep blue velvet, almost black. She was decked out in her namesake; glistening strands of black stones hung from her long neck and delicate wrists, and there were numerous rings on her long, slender fingers. She was catlike, not only in her eyes and face, but in her movement; sinuous and graceful, full of dignity and pride and purpose, like an ancient Egyptian queen. Beautiful was Black Jade; beautiful and proud and deadly.   
Bitter, as well. Voldemort knew that her family, though not Dark Wizards by trade, had an obsession with pure blood. They had long ago devised a way to tell if a person was wizard or not, then take the magically inclined children, raise them, and make sure that they married other purebloods. He also knew that they had been exiled from the wizarding world for their deeds, and Jade was especially bitter about this, bitter about the fact that if she hadn't been kidnapped as a baby, she might well have been a true wizard. She was especially hard to deal with because of this; no matter that he was a renegade and a Dark wizard, he was still a conventional wizard, something she would never be.   
"I need some help," he said shortly.   
Again, her eyebrow shot up. "Well, this IS an honour. I imagine not many people have ever heard that before." She whispered something in Matounese to the ivory white Angora in her arms, and it looked at Voldemort, then made strange hissing sounds, giving him the feeling he was being laughed at.   
"All right then," said Jade, sitting up and fixing her uncanny gold eyes on him. "What can I do for you?" 

"That little creep!"   
Odile drove her fist into the wall.   
"That lying, cheating little bastard!"   
Her fist smashed into the alley wall.   
"No-good, two timing scum!"   
The wall was starting to get irritated.   
"When I get my hands on him, I'll--"   
She continued in this vein for some time, landing blow after blow on the defenceless wall, imagining each individual brick to have Voldemort's face, until her knuckles were torn and ragged, and the stones smeared with her blood.   
But, no, it wasn't her blood, it was Voldemort's blood. He still had her body, the little piece of filth, and she wanted it BACK! She let out an inarticulate roar and continued her assault on the wall.   
"Odile!" came Maggie's voice   
She ignored her.   
"ODILE!!" yelled Maggie.   
Odile whirled around, eyes blazing. "WHAT?"   
"Calm down, right now." said her mother firmly, and her tone was so stern that Odile was a bit surprised and her rage dissipated slightly.   
"We're not getting anywhere, that wall's about to fall down, and for crying out loud, stop punching it or you'll lame yourself."   
"I want to KILL him!"   
"Fine. Right know, I wouldn't mind killing him myself. But don't take   
it out on the poor wall. It didn't do anything to you."   
Odile looked from her bloodied hands, to the battered wall, to her mother's face, then burst out laughing. There was nothing to laugh about, but she laughed, just the same, a wild insane howl, until she had no breath left to even giggle, and could only wheeze.   
The wall was infinitely relieved. 

"So, just why do you want revenge on your followers? They haven't done anything, have they?"   
"Have you or have you not been keeping tabs on them, like I told you to?"   
"Well of course I have!" Black Jade replied indignantly. "I take my responsibilities seriously, and all they're doing is searching for you frantically while dodging all questions pertaining to where their loyalty lies! They won't be stupid enough to go for outright denial, not after you taught them a lesson."   
"But - but…" Voldemort tried to keep control of himself. Black Jade was probably telling the truth, he decided. She had been telling the truth to him for over fifteen years, while Nagini had never shown any nonsnakelike qualities until that… being showed up and claimed to be her. Ockham's Razor: the simplest explanation that takes into account all the facts is probably right. He remembered Professor Binns droning on about that fourteenth-century wizard/philosopher. Old "Dustbinns," they called him. He was probably dead, now…   
"Wassamatter - meditating?" Jade's sardonic voice broke into Voldemort's thoughts. He jumped. This body, shaping his mind to its forms and habits, could get so… off-topic, sometimes!   
"No," he growled, sounding more petulant than menacing. That was another thing he didn't like about the body. "And for another thing, I want my body back!"   
Black Jade cocked her head thoughtfully at him. "Why?" she asked. "Why bother tracking down the girl - you could just make a new body the way you want!"   
Voldemort quickly discarded the idea. He wouldn't have been able to do it the same way he had done it previously, and he would have had to go to all the trouble of hunting Potter down again anyway if he had wanted the effect to be the same. It was just too risky, anyway. "Look," he said. "I need to meet up with my people before we can get anywhere. I can't go anywhere magical except Azkaban, because that fool Black brought me there. So why don't you take me there, and then you can get someone - Wormtail, probably."   
Black Jade did a little bow. "I am yours to command, my lord." Was she mocking him? 

"So what do we do?" asked Odile for what seemed to be the fiftieth time.   
"I honestly don't know," Maggie replied. She sat with her head in her hands, trying to think.   
Odile had a sudden sensation of being watched from behind. She turned around, but all she saw was shadows playing over the surface of a faded mural of cowboys.   
Then, like an optical illusion, the mural and shadows resolved themselves into a cowelled figure in a black cloak, and a bone-white horse.   
WE HAVE TWO MATTERS TO DISCUSS.   
Maggie turned around like a shot. "Thanatos!"   
YES.   
She stared at him in confusion. "What-?"   
YOU KNOW THAT I AM NOT TRULY A GOD. AND YOU KNOW OF NEMESIS.   
"The goddess of revenge…" Odile said in a whisper.   
MY SISTER. YOUR AUNT.   
Odile and Maggie just stared.   
SHE IS MAKING TROUBLE IN THIS WORLD. SHE DOES NOT BELONG HERE. YOU KNOW YOU MUST BEWARE OF HER. YOU KNOW WHY, MAGPIE.   
THAT IS THE FIRST THING.   
THERE ARE OTHERS, MAKING TROUBLE ON OUR WORLD. ON XXXX.   
He pronounced it Fourecks, but you could hear the true spelling of the word. That was how he said it.   
THEY CLAIM TO BE WIZARDS. THIS IS QUITE UPSETTING TO THOSE AT BUGARUP UNIVERSITY.   
Although there was nothing questioning about his tone, one could tell that Death was asking a question that he already knew the answer to.   
Maggie looked down. It was quite a feat to look in his eyes when he wasn't displeased with her. "Well… that would have been me."   
IT WOULD PROBABLY BE A GOOD IDEA TO BRING THEM BACK. THEY ARE AN ANCHOR, EASING HER EXISTENCE HERE.   
"You'd better take us to Azkaban, then. I need to be in the same place to bring them back." 

Sirius ground his teeth. Riding double on a broom with that woman was not his idea of fun. She was so… smug, as if she already had all the answers to everything. So… superior. "So, what do you think is happening with the Dementors?"   
"I'm sure they're getting much emotion. Not from him- he rarely shows his feelings, you know; but from his companions, and all his little minions, their last hope of escape gone. I could almost feel sorry for them."   
"Well, you'll be able to show your lack of sympathy soon; we're almost to Azkaban." 

How's that for an ending that leaves you dying to know what happens next? Anyway, wait no longer, i make up for the lapse in sending by sending 3 chapters, yes this is the first of THREE new chapters - all at once! Woohoo!   
~R 


	5. The Battle at Azkaban

Thanks to Jessica S Jade, who wrote this whole section and who thought up the characters of Kirai and Black Jade. One note: If you're reading this, Celenae the Goddess of Revenge, this was written before I really noticed you/ your name. So don't be offended, and if you don't know what i'm talking about, read on! 

Maggie yelped and clung to Binky's neck, doing her best not to look down, and doing poorly. Odile let out a wild whoop and thrust a fist in the air, and Maggie snapped at her to keep herself balanced or she'd fall and break her neck.   
"We're over water, Maggie! We're so far up, I'd pass out before I hit the surface!"   
"Don't talk back to me, young lady!" She had such an angry and maternal firmness that Odile conceded and fell silent, though she still delighted in the wind whipping in her face, and the fresh clean smell on the stallion's body, and the thrill of being up so high and flying making her heart race and her voice want to cry out with the rush of it.   
All this was wasted on her mother, who dug her fingers into the horse's mane and closed her eyes as tight as she possibly could, as she tried to ease the fear in her heart and the nausea in her gut.   
"Damn you Thanatos!" she cried angrily. Her former lover had loaned her his horse, Binky to take them to Azkaban, and currently she was furious at him.   
Gods above and below, but she hated heights!   
"Look, there's Azkaban," cried Odile, and it was the first time Maggie was relieved to see that wretched place. She heaved a sigh of relief as her steed swept down toward the roof.   


Voldemort skimmed low, just above the waves, his hands tight around the handle of the broomstick Black Jade had loaned to him. Savwar was wrapped around the handle, as well, the tip of his tail occasionally tracing a line on the steely grey sea. Voldemort faced into the wind, feeling an unfamiliar rush of adrenaline as he soared out and about, rising, dodging, dipping, zipping around rocks that appeared from the thick, cloying fog and disappeared just as quickly. He climbed up to twenty, thirty, forty feet or more, and dove at breakneck speeds, toward the water below. No wonder those Quidditch fools spend so much time gallivanting about on broomsticks, he thought. This was fun!   
Soon the fortress appeared, and he hung a sharp right, dodging around to the back of the building and, parking his broomstick, silently stepping over to the rear door and slipping through.   


Sirius pulled the broomstick to a halt at the front of the main door, hastily getting off, glad to be away from Kirai's disturbing presence. Kirai was, as always, dressed in black, this time in a black turtleneck, black boots, black jeans, and black scarf, with just a trace of red on her long, finely manicured nails and full, sensuous lips. Her hair was pulled back in a braid that reached her ankles, and, though the day was foggy, her sunglasses were ever-present… Her movements were regal and imperious, queenlike, yet also suggestive and inviting. She made him very uncomfortable, and all the more sure of one thing; He didn't like her. He didn't like her at all.   
He hesitated, and she hissed, "Something wrong, Sirius?"   
"No," he said, his voice embarrassingly high.   
"Then lead the way, Mr. Black."   
Sirius looked up at the looming fortress, and felt the fear rise in him. All the memories of this place. . . His throat constricted, and he clutched his hands in front of him so she couldn't see how violently they shook. His mind was screaming at him. Go back, go back. . . Don't go in there. . .Oh God, turn back now, just do it. . . And at that moment he might well have, but his hands betrayed him. Moving of their own volition, they reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. He could feel Kirai's smug presence at his back, and his resolve strengthened, but his voice shook so badly that he had to repeat the Alihomora charm three times before it worked, and the door swung open.   
Kirai, standing behind him, smiled cruelly. Not long now. . . 

Maggie released her white-knuckled grip on the horses mane and slid off its back, kneeling on the sturdy roof of the fortress. Odile hopped down beside her. She turned and hugged the horse and pressed her face into its mane, but Maggie could only raise a hand in farewell as the horse galloped off and was quickly swallowed by the mist.   
Odile grinend like a madman. "Some ride, hunh, Maggie?"   
"Mmmpf."   
Odile knelt and helped her to her feet. A few deep breaths helped Maggie to steady herself, and she and Odile walked over to the door that led down to the bowels of the infamous prison.   
Odile shuddered involuntarily. "Never thought I'd come back to this cesspit again."   
Maggie laughed harshly. "Tell me about it!"   
"I have a question."   
"Hmm?"   
"From what I heard, Azkaban is somewhere to the north of Scotland, because I remember that Sirius swam from here to the mainland when he escaped. But unless we went around the Strait of Magellan, I don't think we could have made it from here to San Francisco. How. . .?"   
"Portholes. Windows. Wormholes, whatever you want to call it. The Discworld and this world are moving into one another. It's the because of those damn wizards at Unseen University. I imagine we passed from between worlds a couple times."   
"Ah." Odile fell silent for a while, then spoke up again. "I have another question."   
"Surprise me."   
"Death mentioned Nemesis. . . He said she was my aunt. Do you know anything about her?"   
Maggie sighed. "Yes, I know about her. She is Death's sister, and the   
goddess of Vengeance. I met her once, and I can't say I enjoyed the meeting.   
She was very arrogant and condescending to me. In this world she is called Nemesis; In the Discworld, she is called Kirai. It means hate in some Klatchian language, I think. . . Anyway, for some reason she's very angry at her brother, I don't know why, and she has a bone to pick with him. Thanatos is worried that she'll come after us."   
Odile shivered. "My aunt. . . Hmmm. Well, if she's expecting us to come quietly, she's in for a surprise."   
Maggie couldn't help but grin, despite her irritation. "Don't get cocky. You may be in the body of the most powerful wizard in the world, but Kirai is a goddess. She could us in half with a finger if she wanted too."   
"You sure she'd wanna risk the damage to her nails?"   
Maggie laughed. 

The halls were echoingly silent, a silence that Sirius found disturbing and oppressing. While part of him thrilled at the possibility that perhaps the dementors were gone, after all, another part was still wondering, where did they go?   
"Are you frightened?" hissed Kirai, her eyes behind the sunglasses filled with malice.   
"No," Sirius lied.   
"You're lying. I can hear your thoughts. . . Echoing all around. . . You're terrified." Kirai walked around him, her voice low and hissing. "You want to run, don't you? Go right ahead. I'm sure they're waiting for you."   
Sirius tried to ignore her, to block her out, but there was truth in her words. He was frightened. When you got right down to it, he was in a state of panic.   
"Where do you think they went?"   
"I don't know," she purred in his ear. "They're waiting for something. Waiting for--"   
But what they were waiting for, he didn't find out, to his relief, because at that moment, three things happened.   
First, he and Kiarai came around a corner into another hallway, devoid of prisoners, dementors or any other form of life.   
"I can still sense their minds here. The prisoners, too."   
Second, at the other end of the hallway, there appeared a monstrous snake, followed by a young girl, in tattered street clothes and carrying a large heavy flashlight.   
Third, two figures descended a staircase halfway down the hall. One was a woman in a faded pale blue wizard's robe.   
The other was Voldemort.   
Sirius felt a jolt. In the blink of an eye, his wand was out and pointed at Voldemort, who looked at him with widened eyes. There was a rather confusing moment when everybody looked at everyone else; The girl's eyes darted from him to Voldemort to the woman and back again, The woman looked at him, then the girl, then him again; Voldemort's snake-pupiled eyes flickered, resting on him, then the girl.   
An instant later, all parties involved (except Kirai, who was standing still, a look of satisfaction on her face) flew into ferocious action.   
Sirius shot a levinbolt at Odile, Maggie leaping in to deflect it just in time. Voldemort raced, ducking to make himself a smaller target, to Odile and Maggie, planning to use the flashlight he had acquired as a weapon, when Odile hissed at him. "Psst! You're the evil overlord; What do I do?"   
"If you're not going to fight, at least look like you know what you're doing!" He hissed back, and did his best to bludgeon Sirius with the flashlight. He was too busy swinging the heavy thing to notice that Savwar had not joined the fray, but had slithered to Kirai's side, watching the battle intently.   
Odile quickly found there wasn't much she could do; with no wand, she was basically dead weight. She could only watch as Maggie and Sirius locked themselves in deadly combat. Flashes of light threw bizarre shadows on the watermarked walls, summoned forms bit and clawed and screeched, only to vanish in a puff of smoke. Odile could almost see the auras of the two combatants: Maggie's silvery blue glow and Sirius' dark green and red shield.   
She also spied, among the dancing shadows, a small figure sneaking up behind Sirius Black, and experienced an odd feeling of deja vu as the figure raised a large flashlight over it's head to swing down on the head of the duelling wizard.   
Kirai watched the scene with pleasure. A smile crept across her face. The smile grew wider as she noticed a presence at her side.   
"Ah, Savwar, I see you've returned. Enjoying the festivities, are you?"   
She spoke in English, not Parseltongue, yet the snake seemed to understand her perfectly, for he bobbed his head in an unmistakable nod.   
She sighed. "Well, I suppose we shouldn't let them kill each other, should we? That would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn't it?" She raised a scarlet nailed hand. 

"Enough!!"   
Voldemort, trying not to think of how demeaning this was, had already begun to swing the flashlight toward Black's skull; yet he felt the flashlight simply stop. he strained to move it, but it refused to budge. Suddenly he realised that not only was the flashlight immovable; he was frozen, too. He glanced around and saw that Sirius, Maggie and Odile were likewise affected.   
"Very entertaining, but I think that's enough for now."   
He suddenly realised he recognised the voice of the speaker. It was the voice that had taunted him from the shadows of the warehouse. . and again, after they had tried to Apparate in San Francisco. It was a voice full of arrogance, and power (it reminded him of his own,) and right now, it sounded smug, triumphant and superior.   
"Ah, so you've already figured it out. Yes, I am the 'Voice'. Frightened?" the speaker cackled, and then walked around him so that she was visible. Voldemort bit his tongue to keep from crying out, because the tall, darkly beautiful woman dressed in black was the very same as the woman claiming to be Nagini that night in London!   
"Ssssso, you figured it out did you?" she hissed, mocking him. She turned around and took in Sirius, Odile and Maggie, all frozen awkwardly. Kirai seemed to notice them for the first time. "Oh! But where are my manners? Company's arrived and I'm not even dressed properly!" She snapped her fingers and brushed her hand down her front, as if sweeping of a speck of dust. As she did so, she changed. When she straightened up, she was dressed in a striking, outfit; elegant, yet barbaric, she looked like something out of a Japanese myth. Her hair flowed down her back, and in one hand she clutched a long bullwhip. Her eyes, ice blue and slit like a cat's, had a cruel, malicious look. She looked like a barbaric warrior priestess of some savage, nomadic tribe. She was powerful, dangerous, and, (to the male contingent of the group,) incredibly sexy.   
Then Voldemort noticed a huge snake at her side--Savwar! "Savwar!" he hissed in Parseltongue. "What do you think you're doing?"   
Savwar replied, "I'm a ssnake, what did you exsspect?"   
  
Kirai looked down at Maggie, still clutching her wand. "I'll take that." The wand flew to her hand. Kirai smiled. "Aaaahhh. . . Thank you for taking such good care of this for me. "   
Kirai tossed her head and glared at Maggie and Odile. "Surprise, honey! Bet you didn't see this coming, did you?"   
Maggie glared back. "I didn't need to. I could smell you a mile off."   
Kirai snarled with rage. Then her face brightened, and there was a loud SMACK as her hand came down on Odile's face.   
"Ahh!"   
Maggie winced. Kiarai smirked. "Does it hurt, dearie?" She slapped again, and as Odile whimpered, Maggie let out a small cry.   
"Ah, such motherly affection for the small one. You'll be very useful. I have a score to settle with a friend of yours, you old crone. You and your spawn will be very useful indeed." She turned her head to the snake. "Savwar!"   
Savwar slithered to her side.   
"Fetch the dementors. Have them escort these two to my office. And tell them no snacking. I'll be with them shortly."   
Savwar nodded and slithered off. Kirai twitched her fingers, and Odile and Maggie simply lifted off the ground and floated away, down the shadowed hallway, leaving Sirius and Voldemort to stare at each other with bewilderment. 

Kirai strode over to Voldemort and picked him up by the collar. She raised him high over her head, then tossed him in the nearest cell. As she shut the door, she whispered, "We'll talk later. I think you may like what I have to offer. Much better then that old crow can ever promise."   
Voldemort said nothing, just glared at her with narrowed eyes. Kirai shrugged, as if this didn't really matter. She turned and strode over to Sirius, who was still standing, unmoving. "Oh, how careless of me."   
She waved her hand, and, the Freezing Charm lifted, Sirius' knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Sirius wasn't a cowardly man, but this woman, whoever she really was, terrified him. Kirai knelt in front of him, cupping his face in one long-fingered hand. She wore a look of concentration as she examined him like a show dog. "And you... A lovely bonus, I must say. Such sweet emotions. . .Ambrosia to an Empath like me. Such passion...bravery ...   
and, of course your fear. Oh, your head and heart are just full of tasty emotions, aren't they, Mr. Black. After all, why let the dementors have all the fun?" She laughed. Then her face became thoughtful. "You are in turmoil, Sirius. Your heart is in chaos." She removed a glove and traced one finger in a line down Sirius' face, who shivered at her touch. "So loud... rebounding around your head... It may drive you mad... And wouldn't that be fun?" And then, she was kissing him, cruelly pressing her face to his, for an eternity of seconds. She finally broke off, leaving Sirius speechless and breathless. She brought her face close to his again. "We'll have some fun later on, you and I," she purred. Then she stood, and, with a flick of her fingers, Sirius flew into a cell across the hall from Voldemort. "Oh!" she cried. She flicked her fingers again, and Sirius' prized rosewood, phoenix feather wand flew to Kirai's hand. She snapped the wand in two, and laughed at the look on his face. She threw the pieces in Sirius' cell, and laughed again. Kirai leaned up against the cell door, gave him a long, cruel look, and walked off. "I'll send down a regiment of dementors, to keep you two company," she called over her shoulder. 

Kirai lashed her whip in the air, snapping it a mere inch from Maggie's face. Maggie didn't bat an eye, just glared at her coldly. Odile and her mother were seated on the floor of a bare, gloomy office, furnished only with a desk and chair. Kirai stood before them, leering down at them, her whip in her hand. Outside the door, a dozen dementors stood like bodyguards, with Savwar in the centre.   
"What do you want?" Odile asked. "Why have you brought us here?"   
Kirai tossed her head again, her ebony hair swinging around her tall, lean body. She smirked at them. "I don't see why I should tell you. After all, what's the point of revealing one's plane to someone who's going to die anyway?"   
"Oh, come on, haven't you ever had a secret?" asked Odile, who knew how teenage girl's minds worked. "Something so juicy you were just dying to tell someone just so you could share it? Besides, if we're going to die, why not just get it off your chest?"   
Kirai looked thoughtful. Odile grinned inside. It was working.   
"Yes, I suppose. Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead, after all."   
"Quaint little phrase. Where'd you hear it?"   
"From an acquaintance of mine. Veran, I think her name was."   
Then, Kirai made one of the most classic blunders of evil overlord-dom. She spilled the beans to her enemies.   
"Anyway, as you know, I'm Kirai. On this world, I'm known as Nemesis. I've been around since before humans ever existed. I was one of the first Discworld Gods. Before Death, even." She looked contemptuous. "Ah, Death. My little brother. The little usurper. You see, I, the elder child, was meant to have the position of Death Goddess . But my kid brother wouldn't stand for that, oh no, he had to outdo me. He got to Blind Io and the Lady and a couple of other gods first. He convinced them that I was mad--"   
"I think I could see the reasoning behind that," said Maggie, but very, very quietly.   
"--and unfit for the job. The little brat took my job away, and I'd barely had a chance to kill anyone! Only a few centuries, that was all! The Lady decided I should be the Goddess of Vengeance, and so I did as I was told. But I swore I'd get them back. It's what I'm best at. First my brother, and then, all the Discworld gods. I will rule! I WILL RULE!"   
Kirai screamed with insane laughter. Odile shuddered. This woman... goddess... was insane, no doubt about that, but she still held the power in this round. They were her pawns, and they needed to wait for an opportunity to fight her.   
Kirai calmed down. "I realised my hostile take-over wouldn't happen overnight. I needed three things. First, a base of operations. I figured it would be safest to launch my attacks from this world, where the other gods have less influence. In fact, except for my brother, none of the gods can come here at all. I would not have been able to, myself, except for one thing. I am an Empath; like your dementors, I feed on the emotions of others, and thus, what with all the residual hate, fear and suffering that hangs around this place, it was an ideal headquarters. When my source runs low, I'll have to transport the prisoners back from XXXX, but for now, you two and that charming Sirius fellow will do nicely. I mean, why let the dementors have all the fun? Second, I needed an army. The dementors are that, indeed.   
Third, I needed a general to lead them. I think, with the proper incentive, your companion Voldemort may indeed be willing to lead my troops.   
I built power in this world in human form, using beglamorment to make Dumbledore send me here. Ministry business, you know, no questions asked."   
"But why do you NEED us?" persisted Odile.   
"Well, If I'm going to retake my throne, I'll need to take something very dear to my brother. I'll usurp him like he usurped me. In fact, I'm going to call him up right now."   
She walked over to the wall and stared at it furiously, as if it had somehow offended her. She waved and the wall changed. It smoothed and lengthened into a mirror. She placed a hand on the glass and rapped a few strange words, and shortly, Death's tall robed figure replaced Kirai's reflection.   
WHAT DO YOU WANT, KIRAI?   
"The same thing I always want, little brother."   
MY ANSWER WILL NOT CHANGE. YOU ARE A TYRANT, KIRAI. YOU ARE NOT MEANT TO BE DEATH.   
"I believe you will change your mind, brother, when you see my bargaining chips." Kirai stepped aside so that Odile and Maggie were visible, frozen by magic, stricken looks on their faces.   
"Hand over your throne or they will suffer. And they will suffer until you agree to give me my birthright. When you do, I will kill them, and they will be in your power. Contact me when you have an answer. Oh, and little brother, make sure it is the right one."   
With that, she severed the contact, and turned to Odile and Maggie.   
"Well, I've just made a deal. Better keep up my end of the bargain." She laughed, as she raised the whip above her head. 

Sirius didn't move for a long time. What was the point? He just lay, on the cold stone floor of the cell, and didn't move. His left leg and arm went numb, and still he remained immobile. So what if he died? It wasn't as if he could make any difference. Kirai would win. She was in control. And she controlled the dementors. Why even bother thinking? It would just draw more dementors to him. Already they swarmed about him, pressing close to his cell door, like flies to a carcass. What was the point of doing anything? The world had gone to hell.   
There was absolutely nothing he could do about it. So why should he care?   
Sirius sank deeper and deeper into his despair, and it swallowed him up, like darkness' shadow. There was nothing to give him hope. . . Nothing to stand between him and the enveloping dark.   
"Psst! Hey! Black!"   
The sound of a human voice roused Sirius somewhat, enough to groan, "Go away."   
"What are you waiting for?" the voice hissed. "You've busted out of this place before! What's to stop you from doing it again?"   
"What good would it do? The entire world hates me, and the only people who know I'm innocent are either dead or powerless to get me out of here."   
"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're starting to believe that stuff! People out there need you!"   
"I gave my life to them!" snapped Sirius. "I sacrificed everything to bring down that bastard, Voldemort. And what did I get? My best friend was murdered, I was betrayed and blamed for it. I was sent here by people I loved. My own friends didn't care that I was sent here. They only said, 'Well, that bloody Death Eater's got what he deserved!'"   
Angry, hateful tears had come to Sirius' eyes, and they burned him, and his face grew hot with shame and despair. His throat tightened and his heart turned black. His soul didn't give a damn. "What's the point? What's the point in doing anything anymore? There's nothing I can do. Not a bloody thing."   
"Yes, there is!" the voice persisted. "There's still Harry! What are you going to do, just leave him for Voldemort to find? What would he think of you? Giving up when you're so close to finishing? You can get out of here, Sirius! We both can!"   
Sirius was unaware that the speaker was, in fact, Voldemort, standing in the next cell. He had figured the best way to get out was to play to Sirius' good side, to convince him to break out and help him (Voldemort) escape as well. He played on what he knew of Sirius, and was surprised by the passion in his voice. He had never known he could act so well.   
Sirius was encouraged by the speaker's words. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet. He closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing away the dementor's vile presences and reaching within himself, looking for that level of calm and concentration that was required for the transformation.   
"What are you doing?" The voice asked.   
"Something I should have done. A long time ago." He fell down onto all fours as his skeleton reorganised itself. Thick black fur spread over his body, and his nails lengthened into blunt black claws. His face elongated, his teeth sharpening into deadly fangs. His ears migrated to the top of his head and became pointed, perked up dog ears. His hands and feet became paws, and his eyes changed, as the world became black and white.   
But as his vision failed, his sense of smell increased a hundredfold. He could smell the grime and dirt on the floor, the sweat and dust of the speaker, coming from the next cell over. He could smell blood coming from the office at the end of the hall. But the smell that filled his canine nostrils was the stench of the dementors, their rotting, evil stink. It invaded his senses and threatened to choke his breath in his throat. He moved forward, padding on silent paws, toward the confused cluster of dementors. As his jaws closed on the nearest one's leg, as he heard bone crunch beneath his teeth, he wondered why he hadn't done this in the first place.   


"No!" screamed Odile. She hurled curses at Kirai, but the goddess of revenge took no notice, as she brought the whip down mercilessly on her mother's back. Odile strained toward them, thrashing and kicking, but magical restraints held her tight. She could only scream, as her hands ached to squeeze the life from Kirai's throat.   
Maggie heard Odile's screams distantly. She vaguely hoped her daughter wasn't being hurt. But there was little opportunity to think at all, so consumed was she by the pain she felt. She was spread-eagled on the floor, unable to move, as the lash of the whip rained down on her, drawing lines of scarlet across her back. She was in such pain that she no longer felt the individual lashes; her back was one big wound, and it filled her being with pain. But she could only grit her teeth as tears sprang to her eyes. Finally, mercifully, the blows ceased to fall. Maggie turned her aching body the slightest fraction, to see Kirai turning her head, a distant look on her face, as if she were being called by a voice only she could hear.   
Finally, the look passed.   
"SAVWAR!" she yelled.   
The big snake appeared from no where.   
"Keep an eye on them. Apparently, the dementors are having some trouble with Black and Riddle."   
The snake nodded and turned to Maggie and Odile as Kirai swept out of the office like a queen. The moment her presence had vanished from the room, the constraints binding Odile vanished, and she rushed to Maggie's side. She gently rolled Maggie over, ignoring the blood that marked her hands, and looked intently at her mother's face.   
"Oh, Maggie. . . Please don't be dead. . . " Maggie refrained from showing any sign she had heard Odile.   
"Dammit! You are NOT bailing on me!   
Not now! We need you here!"   
Maggie's face twitched, and she smiled weakly. "Caught, am I?"   
"Damn right," said Odile, her heart leaping with relief. "What do we do? I got a snake the size of Kirai's ego staring me in the face!"   
"L-look on the desk, Odile."   
Odile did. On the desk was a thin black rod. She turned back to Maggie.   
"I see a wand."   
"Yes. It's mine. You have to get it back for me."   
"Yeah, but how? Savwar is a lot closer to it than me, not to mention he has fangs. Rrrrh! I knew we shoulda left him in Frisco! I'm gonna--"   
"Hush. Listen. There is a rudientary spell that requires no wand. It's a Fetching spell. Reach out with your mind, and picture the wand. Memorize it's exact location." Odile closed her eyes and endeavoured to do as she was told. "Got it?"   
"Yeah."   
"Good. Now, tell yourself that the wand isn't there, it's in your hand. And you've got to believe it, believe it with every fibre in your body."   
Odile closed her eyes and concentrated hard. She heard part of her mind insist that this was stupid, that this would never work, that she was a Muggle, and that the wand was on the desk, plain as day. But Odile ignored that voice, and firmly told herself that she could work magic, and that the wand was in her hand. In fact, she could almost feel the smooth, soft rosewood. . .   
She looked down, and her heart skipped a few beats, because there, in her hand, was a long, black wand.   
"Good girl!" whispered Maggie, her voice still horribly weak. "Has the snake noticed?"   
Odile shook her head imperceptibly.   
"Good. Give it to me." Odile did so gently, placing the long piece of wood in Maggie's hand with infinite care. Maggie sighed with pleasure and relief. Odile sighed too, and looked up to see Savwar lunging at her, fangs bared.   
Odile was frozen, but Maggie wasn't. With a great effort, the cuts on her back burning like fire, Maggie got to her feet, and pointed her wand at Savwar. "Wingardium Leviosa!" she cried, and Savwar rocketed toward the ceiling, where he hovered, thrashing, lashing and snapping at air, but still managing to not move the slightest bit vertically.   
Odile clapped. "Great job, Maggie! Who woulda thought you'd beat him with a first year spell?"   
"Go with what works, I guess," Maggie shrugged, then winced as she pulled at her wounds.   
Odile's face filled with concern. "Oh, no, your poor back... Do you know any healing spells?"   
"Yes, I know one. But it's not quite conventional Guard the door. Watch for Kirai.. Just a moment." She pointed her wand at an empty spot in mid air, and several herbs and what looked like part of a spider's web appeared. Under the direction of her wand, they flew around to her back, and slid one by one across the hair thin, but deep, precise lacerations across Maggie's back. As they did so, Maggie cried, in a high, clear voice which chilled Odile to the core of her being, 

"Blood! Obey me! Turn around! Be a lake and not a river,   
When you reach the open air, stop! And Build a clotted wall, build it firm to hold the flood back!   
Blood, your sky is the skull dome,   
Your sun is the open eye,   
Your wind the breath inside the lungs,   
Blood, your world is bounded! Stay there!"   
Odile shivered as sweat popped out on her forehead. Surely Kirai could hear them! 

"Oak bark, Spider silk, ground moss, saltweed--   
grip close, bind tight,   
hold fast, close up,   
bar the door, look the gate,   
stiffen the blood-wall,   
dry the gore-flood!" 

Maggie fell silent, and Odile saw with awe that the slashes had vanished, and not a moment too soon, for a heartbeat later, Kirai herself lunged in through the door, looking about wildly, and seeing Odile, shivering and chilled, Maggie sweating with exhaustion, but pointing a wand at her, and Savwar, seemingly glued to the ceiling, thrashing and hissing with rage.   
Kirai's hand shot out, but Maggie was too fast.   
"Avada Kedavra!" screamed Maggie, and green light flashed, blinding Odile temporarily. When the spots disappeared from her vision, she saw Kirai crumpled in a heap on the floor.   
"Is she. . Is she dead?" asked Odile, hoping both that she was and that she wouldn't be.   
Maggie wiped away a strand of sweat-soaked hair. "'Course not. It'll take more than that to kill her."   
"I thought the sentence for using that was a lifetime in Azkaban."   
"Who gives a damn?"   
"Not me."   
They both laughed. Odile picked up another wand off the floor.   
"Hmm. Kirai musta dropped this. Voldemort's probably."   
"Hey, it's yours now. It's not like he can use it." Maggie laughed. Then she noticed another wand on the table. "Sirius' wand, I reckon," she muttered, and pocketed it. Odile hadn't noticed. She laughed too, and the two emerged into the hall to find bedlam.   
Dementors everywhere, milling about as if confused, or lost. A few were stretched out on the floor, unmistakably dead. Lunging to and fro was a huge, shaggy black dog, snarling, howling, fangs dripping with some black liquid, probably dementor blood, and through the chaos darted a small figure.   
Voldemort knocked a dementor out of the way as he raced up to Maggie and Odile.   
"Is Kirai indisposed?"   
"Yes."   
"Do you have your wand?"   
"Yes."   
"Is that my wand Odile has?"   
"Yes."   
"Good. Now switch us back."   
  


Ways to avoid those "classic blunders of evil overlord - dom" can be found at www.eviloverlord.com, which I am in no way affiliated with but is a great, truly hilarious site. 

Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead, read Avengement! 


	6. The Battle: Avengement

Thanks to Jessica S Jade, who did this part also, and everything that happens is NOT MY FAULT! (so complain to her...) 

His voice was so authoritative that Maggie was taken aback, and when she hesitated, Voldemort snapped, "Well! What are you waiting for?!"   
"How do we know you're still on our side?"   
Voldemort was outraged. "What? Why wouldn't I be?"   
"Don't play dumb. We know what Kirai was planning for you. We give you back your wand and your body, you'll kill us and go straight to her. You'd do anything for a bit of power."   
"That's not true!"   
"You know, for someone who's half snake," snapped Odile, "You really are a rotten liar."   
Voldemort ignored this. "But why I'm not going to kill you!"   
"You also said you wouldn't run off on us!" yelled Odile, her rage breaking. "But we turn our backs for one moment, and off you've gone! And now look where it's got us! Maggie almost died, you almost ended up with a lifetime in Azkaban, and to top it all off, that psycho-babe almost took over the world! The bottom line is, We Can't Trust You. So don't expect us to give you back your powers and say, 'Oh, well, all in fun, what?' and let you kill us! I don't intend to do that, I promise you!"   
Voldemort, Maggie, Sirius, even the dementors stared at her in awe. Sirius, who still had no clue as to who was in who's body, was especially confused.   
Voldmort sighed. "You know what? You're right. You can't trust me. But what else are you going to do? You can't very well fight a legion of dementors on your own, can you?"   
Maggie glared at him. "No, I suppose not. Fine, I'll switch you back. But if you try anything funny, I'll kill you. You know I will. With my bare hands, if I have to. If you do anything to hurt me or Odile, whatever's left of me will chase whatever's left of you to the ends of the earth, and you'll wish you were never born."   
Voldemort cocked an eyebrow. "Fair enough. 'Never make a deal with a demonic being, then attempt to double cross it, just because you feel like being contrary,' I believe is the saying."   
Maggie half smiled. "Thanks for the compliment." She turned to Odile.   
"Are you ready?"   
Odile honestly wasn't sure. On the one hand, she did miss her body, modest as it was. But still, being the most powerful wizard in the world had its benefits. Had there been more time, she might have taken more time to think it over. But time was something they were running out of, so she made her decision quickly.   
"Well, Voldemort, as fun as it is being you, there's no place like home, and I'm late for curfew."   
"Yes, well, I can't really say I enjoy being four foot seven inches and totally handicapped, to boot."   
Maggie nodded. "I'll take that as a yes. You two, stand up straight and   
face toward each other, otherwise I might end up with an Odile mort or something."   
Odile and Voldemort faced each other, each looking into their own faces, through which the eyes of another stared back. Maggie pointed her wand at them and muttered a few words Odile expected to feel light and dizzy, like before, but not so. She felt pins and needles all over her body, so that she wanted to cry out, but her mouth was frozen. . . Her whole body was frozen…Then her world went dark.   
A second later, she opened her eyes to see Maggie lunging at her. She was knocked aside and flung to the floor, just as a dementor lumbered across the place where she had just been standing. "Thanks," she said breathlessly, then started. Her voice. . . it was her voice, not some mock-up of Voldemort's. She looked at her hands, and yes, they had pigment, and her fingers were of reasonable length. She felt a mad smile spread across her face, and her heart's pace quickened. Oh, but it was good to be home. She saw Voldemort shake his head in confusion, but it was brief. "Hey, Voldie!" she called, "Your wand's in your robe pocket!" She watched as he reached into his pocket and saw, with some amusement, an almost childlike delight on his face. "Now kick dementor butt!" she yelled, and hurried off on her…her . . . legs, to find some large, blunt object that she could bludgeon a dementor with. 

Sirius' head rang. His momentary confusion at what had passed between Voldemort, the girl and the woman was just that: momentary, and it was quickly forgotten as he sprang into action. He had never dreamed it could be so satisfying to crunch dementor bones in his jaws, despite their foul rancid taste. He decided Kirai had the right idea; Vengeance was the best!   
He worked himself into a frenzy, lunging, ripping, biting, rending with fang and claw. He didn't count how many he felled; it might have been five, or a dozen, or a million; it didn't matter to him. But eventually it occurred to him, in a part of his mind, that chewing up dementors wasn't as smart as using a wand. He could sense his wand's presence, in the woman's pocket, and he transformed and darted toward her. He used a Fetching spell, and the wand flew out of her pocket and into his hand. He lunged around, casting a Patronus as he did so. A huge dog made of silver mist exploded out of his wand and lunged at the dementors, joining the Patronus' of Voldemort and the woman: a monstrous snake and a cowled figure, perched upon a white horse and swinging a scythe. The girl darted to and fro, a large stone block in hand, and she used it well, thwacking and lashing out with it, managing to annoy the dementors greatly, if not always knock them down.   
Sirius was painfully aware of Voldemort not too far to his left; too close for comfort. He began to reserve his strength, for he knew that once the dementors had been vanquished, they would once again be enemies. 

Kirai woke with a splitting headache. She shook her head briefly, once,   
twice, and wondered what she was doing on the office floor, and why Savwar was on the ceiling. Then it came back to her in a rush.   
Proserpine! She roared with fury. She was so close! But now that woman and her daughter were gone, they must have been, no one in their right mind would want to--   
But they were still here. She could feel it, inside her mind. They were fighting, Maggie and the girl, and Voldemort and Black besides, against the dementors. She could have cried aloud. No! They weren't supposed to work together! It wasn't supposed to be like that!   
She was losing. As much as she hated it, she had lost this fight. NO!!!   
she cried silently. But it was true. Her army was dissolving, and her power in this world was running low. She had to return to the Discworld.   
But she wouldn't go back to her realm alone. Oh no, someone would go too, but not to the same place. Without a thought as to how stupid this was, the act of a fool, an act with out planning or foresight, she sent a careful blast of information to Sirius' head. 

Sirius grinned as the last of the dementors retreated. The four of them stopped, exhausted to regroup. Only a few seconds to prepare to fight again. But he was awake, he was alert, on fire, with every nerve stretched to the breaking point, his mind in a boiling frenzy. Suddenly, he felt something in his mind- Kirai! That witch! He didn't know how, but she was right behind him--   
Without thinking, he whirled around, and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" 

Odile saw Sirius turn, madness clear on his face, and point his wand at the nearest person, and shout the words to the killing curse. As if in slow motion, a bolt of emerald power shot across the room.   
At Maggie.   
"MOM!" screamed Odile. Her emotions ran high, and the even as she moved towards Maggie, the thought of losing her made passionate tears spring to her eyes. She lunged forward, wanting only to stop the bolt of death from destroying her one precious thing, her best friend. Her mother. 

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"   
"MOM!"   
Maggie whirled around. She saw Sirius fire the curse, saw Odile lunge. She was frozen, she couldn't move. She never understood how a ninety-five pound teenager could move faster than a bolt of light, but all she knew was that she felt Odile's small body impact her an instant before the flash of green blinded her vision.   
She sprawled on her back, striking her head on the stone floor, as Odile landed on top of her. The sharp pain dizzied her and she blacked out. 

A second later, she came to. She didn't understand. Wasn't she supposed to be dead? Was this what it was like to be dead? If so, why did her head hurt so badly? She had seen Sirius curse her, had seen Odile lunge at her, had felt her impast. But if she was still alive, then ...   
She felt an icy hand grip her heart. Her pulse pounding, her breath caught in her throat, she sat up sharply, looking about wildly.   
What she saw was a small figure, crumpled beside her. It did not move,   
and its shoulders did not rise and fall with its breath.   
"Odile!" she screamed. She turned the body over, and looked on Odile's face... so peaceful... so quiet... So lifeless. The lively blue eyes were closed, and her body was relaxed and limp in a terrifying way.   
Odile was dead.   
"NO!! NO!!" Maggie cried. "ODILE!" she sobbed, screaming, over and over, her daughters name. She clutched the little body, holding her daughter close, as her tears poured down to mingle with Odile's s she screamed with grief. She was no longer crying individual words, just one long, soul piercing wail, as sobs tore at her throat and wracked her body.   
And Odile didn't move. Her heart didn't beat, her eyelids remained closed. No breath stirred the wispy strands of hair on her face.   
Maggie cried, she sobbed, she wept, she mourned. There was no word for the grief she felt. Her soul was gone, her ribs laid open and her heart torn out. The pain she felt was multiplied a hundred-fold as she felt a hate inside her, for herself.   
She had failed her daughter. When Odile was born, had she left her, no, she had abandoned her to be raised among strangers, to live on the streets.   
She had never been a mother to Odile; she had ignored and overlooked the poor child her whole life. She had never done anything for her. Yet her child had died for her. It should be the other way around, she thought with   
her grief-consumed mind. I should be dead, not her!! Why? Why had Odile thrown her life away, just to save hers? She had called her Mom, her last words, her, a woman who had never given the poor neglected girl any love or kindness, nothing a mother would have done.   
"WHY?" she screamed. "You fool! Why'd you do it, huh?" she shook Odile's body. "Why'd you do it?" she broke down with sobs again. "Why? Why don't you hate me?" She wept and sobbed, and her questions echoed through the stone halls, but no answer came. 

My baby needs a shepherd,   
She's lost out on the hill   
Too late I tried to call her when the night was cold and still   
And I tell myself "I'll find her",   
But I know I never will.   
My baby needs a shepherd,   
She's lost out on the hill. 

My baby needs an angel,   
She never learned to fly.   
She'll not reach sanctuary just by looking to the sky,   
I guess I could have carried her,   
But I didn't even try.   
My baby needs and angel,   
She never learned to fly. 

Oh I ran so far   
Through a broken land   
I was marching to a drummer   
Beating in a different band 

And out on the highway I let go of her hand   
Now she's gone forever   
Like her footprints in the sand. 

Toora loora loora lo   
First the seed, and then the rose   
Toora loora loora li   
My kingdom for a lullaby 

My baby needs a pilot,   
She has no magic wand   
To part the troubled waters of the Rubicon   
But in my soul I know   
She'll have to go this one alone.   
After all, that is the only way she's ever known. 

But there is no lamp   
In all this dark   
That could chase away her shadow   
From the corners of my heart 

I pray she rides a dolphin   
But she's swimming with a shark   
Out where none can save her   
Not even Noah and his Ark 

Toora loora loora lo   
To the cradle comes the crow   
Toora loora loora li   
My kingdom for a lullaby 

My baby needs a mother   
To lover till the end   
Up every rugged mountain and down every road that bends   
Sometimes I hear her crying,   
But I guess it's just the wind   
My baby needs a mother   
To love her till the end. 

Sirius was frozen. He stared in awe and horror at what he had done. He kept telling himself that the girl would wake, that she would be as energetic and healthy as she had been only moments ago. But she didn't, and he and Voldemort could only look on in shock and sorrow at Maggie's huddled form and Odile's motionless body.   
Maggie wept until she had no tears left. There was nothing in her heart now. Nothing but emptiness, and grief, and hate. She lowered her head and kissed her daughter's unmoving, tear streaked face, then rose, slowly, to her feet. She snapped her head up, and Sirius quailed at the look on her face. It was a face devoid of all human emotion, containing no sympathy or passion or love, only hate and bitterness. It was the look Kirai always wore.   
As if she had read his thoughts, Maggie raised her hand and clenched it into a fist. "Kirai!" she screamed. "Goddess of rage and hate! I have been wronged. Grant me the strength to take my vengeance on he who has hurt me!   
Kirai! My heart has broken! Help me to heal it by smiting my enemies!   
Kirai! I implore you! Help me!!!!" 

Kirai laughed harshly from the office. Savwar fell to the floor with a thump as Maggie forgot about the spell keeping him there, but Maggie ignored him. She heard Maggie's desperate plea for vengeance.   
"Oh, you'll get it, little witch. You'll get it." She stepped into the hall, and saw Maggie standing there, Sirius, frozen, Voldemort trying to make her stop. Kirai knew he would not succeed. Kirai laughed, and pointed at Maggie. A bolt of scarlet spring from hr fingertip to Maggie's forhead, where it burned into a bright, arcane symbol. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she and Savwar both vanished. 

Maggie reeled from the force of the blow, and cried out as she felt a burning on her forehead. But then she felt a power unlike anything she'd ever felt. Deep in her icy, frozen heart, a fire began to burn, the spread slowly outward, becoming a raging blaze, so that she felt she herself might burst into flames.   
And she was changing. She was growing larger, as her skin hardened and her nails lengthened. She contorted with pain at these changes, for such a transformation was very painful. She screamed as her shoulder blades exploded iwith pain and her hair was sucked into her changing skull. And there were other changes, happening within her, as the fire inside her roared in   
her ears.   
She was too big for the hallway, now. Sirius and Voldemort dodged away as Maggie exploded outward, rubble tumbling into the sea. With Kirai's symbol burning on her forehead, Maggie the dragon spread her huge, leathery wings, and screamed a wild, animal cry, as liquid fire poured from her mouth. 

Yes, so sad. The next part will be here eventually, please be patient...   
~R 


	7. An Unexpected Ally

Voldemort Serial Story 7 Well, here is the close - to -final chapter. Much apologies for not updating in months. (I'm so sorry...) It backtracks a bit... about thirty seconds, or the entirety of the song in the previous chapter. And, it bows to the inevitable and introduces... (READ TO FIND OUT, HEH HEH HEH) 

* * *   
Shaking her head from the impact, Odile sat up, and then rose to her feet. Maggie - her mother - was turning over someone that looked like her but was hanging limply, lifelessly. Her first hypothesis - that they had changed back somehow and Voldemort had been killed (was that possible?) was disproved when she turned and saw the thin, pale figure in the dark cloak staring in her direction.   
But wait… there was Voldemort over there by Black, wearing the thick jacket that Maggie had gotten her in San Francisco such a long time ago…   
Odile turned back to the cloaked figure.   
I'M SORRY.   
"Well," said Odile, "what happens next?"   
I BELIEVE THERE WAS A LONELY DESERT ARRANGED FOR. BUT AS IT DOES NOT SEEM TO BE HERE, DO YOU KNOW HOW TO PLAY… WEIR? DAM? OH BUGGER…   
* * *   


"Watch out!" Voldemort shouted to Sirius as he dodged the flame. He didn't exactly know why he was warning him. Maybe it was because Maggie was indiscriminately searing everything within reach of her flame, and if Sirius stayed alive she would probably not aim for him, Voldemort, quite so often. As he watched Sirius get singed by a lucky shot, then ducked himself to avoid burning his head, he felt himself wishing that Harry Potter was there. It was just that Harry was so good at getting out of these situations! He did it in every book, actually. Voldemort admitted that, true, in general he had been the one who failed to vanquish Potter, and wondered belatedly what books he had been referring to, but was to busy to give it more than a passing thought of admiration for his nemesis. But it was enough.   
Harry bolted upright, his blankets falling on the floor. His scar throbbed, but it didn't hurt, exactly. Instead of being searing, the heat radiating from it warmed him and gave him the feeling that he got whenever he had just won in Quidditch. With one hand he rubbed it in puzzlement, while he searched for his blankets with the other. But he almost didn't need them. The warmth from his scar was enough. Then, suddenly, it stopped, and a thought leapt into his head. Sirius needed his help! Harry blinked. He knew that Sirius Black, his godfather, one of the few adults he really trusted, was in mortal danger, without knowing why. And he had to do something!   
Without even thinking, he had pulled on his robe and was running towards Dumbledore's office. He just hoped they hadn't changed the password.   
Dumbledore looked up, surprised, as he heard the sound of running feet.   
"Wha - Harry?" he exclaimed. "What happened?"   
"It's Sirius," replied Harry, gasping for breath. "He needs me. Now."   
Dumbledore was startled, but when Harry related what had happened, he realised that Harry was right. He was reluctant to put Harry in danger, but the boy had weathered four years so far and would probably survive. Reaching into his desk, he picked up a small key through his sleeve.   
"Black was - is - on Azkaban. Here's a portkey. Come back as soon as you can."   
Harry reached out for the key, but checked halfway to make sure he had his wand. Satisfied, he took it, and felt the colours swirl as he was drawn to the prison.   
When the landscape finally clarified, Harry was standing in a small grey room about the size of a telephone booth. Stuck to the wall was a piece of paper. Harry leaned closer to read it.   
IMPORTANT! (the paper said,)   
This room is inside a reverse circle of imprisonment. Nothing can get in, so once you leave it you will not be able to return. Make SURE that you have the portkey with you before leaving, even if you are leaving by other means.   
Harry slipped the portkey in his pocket and drew his wand before leaving the room. Sure enough, there was a circle gouged into the ground, surrounding the booth. There was no one nearby, but Harry looked up and saw flashes of light emanating from a very large building nearby. He started to run. 

Sirius thought frantically as he tried to avoid the flames. He had tried the conjunctivitus curse already, the one that he had been going to suggest for Harry to use during the tournament, but it hadn't had an effect. He was frantically trying to think of a spell he could use when a door swung open and another black-cloaked figure darted inside. He almost didn't reckognise him.   
"Harry?!"   
With a look of surprise, Voldemort (presumably - Sirius was still not entirely clear on the matter) whirled to look at the boy, earning himself a blast of flame that set his scarf on fire. 

Harry wasn't sure who the person in the heavy jacket was, but it was clear that the dragon, with the strange mark on its forehead, was attacking both him and Sirius, and so he assumed that he would be grateful for the help. Sending a quick jet of water that put out the scarf, Harry tried to decide what to do. The rusty - red dragon was smaller than the Hungarian Horntail he had faced in his forth year, but there was a look of intelligence in its eyes, and Harry could feel its almost tangible hatred for Sirius. What was it Sirius had said about fighting dragons?   
"That's it, the Conjunctivitus curse!" exclaimed Harry, but Sirius, hearing him, said, "Tried that already! Didn't work!" Then, suddenly, the dragon, having apparently tired of flaming unsuccessfully, swooped down on Sirius, who was knocked over by the blow. Even from the distance Harry could see the blood starting to flow. The   
Harry thought for a moment. Then, both to Sirius and the stranger, who did have his wand out, he yelled, "Stupefy on three!" Without waiting to see if they had heard, he counted.   
"One… Two… Three! Stupefy!" Two voices echoed his on the last word, and three jets of light spurted out of three wands, hitting the dragon squarely on the nose. It growled, shaking its head. Then, slowly and ponderously, it collapsed.   
Harry's scar was still throbbing as he ran to Sirius. He didn't really know what to do; he hadn't yet learned any healing spells, always relying again on Madame Pomfrey's aid. He looked around for something to put over the wound to staunch it. But the stranger got there first.   
"Blood for blood," he muttered, swiping the tip of his wand past his arm and wincing; Harry, fascinated, saw bright blood welling from a wound in the pale skin that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.   
"Pain for pain," the stranger continued, letting the blood drip onto Sirius' wounds; when it touched that of Sirius, pale pink mist sprang up, as if some sort of chemical reaction were talking place.   
"Wounds freely taken to replace those unwillingly received." The mist covered Sirius' wounds completely, now.   
"The balance is complete; the debt is paid." The stranger breathed heavily over the mist, and it dissipated, revealing great scars that looked if they had been received many years ago. Sirius was starting to recover.   
"You… you…?" he asked weakly, sounding as if he'd heard that the Dursleys were throwing Harry a surprise party.   
"Yess," said the stranger gently. Harry realized that the voice was extremely familiar. Too familiar. "I am afraid most of the spells I know are of this sort: blood and etc. I rarely use - don't believe I've ever used - this particular one. Too much personal sacrifice." He laughed ironically, and the high tone was one that Harry had heard before. In his nightmares.   
Harry backed away, holding his wand high. "Voldemort!"   
The stranger looked up, and Harry saw with inevitable horror the pale, snakelike face and red inhuman eyes. "Yes. Harry Potter. A stray thought can stray far, I see."   
Harry held his ground. "I have defeated you before, Voldemort, and I can beat you again. And maybe this time it will be the last!"   
Voldemort blinked, slowly, reptile-like. "Yes. On this night of loss, it would be appropriate for me to lose all, yes? Or is it you who has lost the most?"   
Harry just stared. Voldemort was talking in riddles. Then, a second glance at Voldemort's face. The red eyes were glistening in the moonlight, sparkling brightly. Harry recognised that look, of someone who has been near to crying, and wondered.   
Voldemort stared back and cursed silently. Form shapes nature, he thought. He had apparently hit a soft spot with Harry, just the thing that he had always been good at. It's cruel, though, part of his mind spoke at him. You're manipulating him. Why? What good will it do? It's natural, Voldemort said back. It's what I do! It's who I am! But is it who you were? You weren't like this forever. Humans aren't born that way. I am more than human! I am Voldemort! But you were human once, Tom Riddle. "Don't call me that!" he shouted, not realising he spoke aloud. "That is the past, this is now! It has been discarded!" He slowly noticed that both Harry and Sirius were staring at him with an expression of disbelief.   
Sirius had managed to rotate himself into a sitting position. He was aware only of the two people, the two living people, that had had the most impact on his life, standing in front of him. And one of them had probably just saved his life.   
Harry's eyes wandered. He saw the huge, prone form of the dragon, saw the huge chunks of rubble, saw the small body crumpled to the ground. A body? He, seeing Voldemort apparently talking to himself and apparently dead to the world, ran to it. It was a girl, a couple years younger than he was. She was completely unmarked, and that left, under the circumstances, only one possible way for her to have died. He turned back to Voldemort, rage replacing confusion on his face.   
"I did it."   
The words, barely more than a whisper, came from Sirius. "What?"   
"I did it. I killed her."   
Confusion returned for an encore as Harry ran to his godfather. "Wh - why? Was she a Death Eater?"   
"No," said Sirius. His face contorted with pain. "There was - a battle - Kirai - and I thought it was her - an accident…" His voice trailed off.   
"I'd better get us out of here," said Harry, "and you can tell me. But first-" his voice rose- "I have a score to settle." He turned to Voldemort. 

Voldemort, meanwhile, was lost inside himself. Thoughts alien to him, memories of things he'd never done, and things he had, swirled together crazily. The orphanage…"Tom Riddle? What sort of a name is that?" Mocking voices. "Hey, I asked you a riddle!" Laughter, mocking me, and I in anger, helpless. They're so cruel, because I'm different… "How do you know so much about mythology?" Laughter, similar but different, heard through different ears. "I don't know! I just do!" More laughter. "Maybe she's the daughter of a goddess. That's more than royalty, eh, Jennie?" But I truly doesn't know I knows those ancient gods like the family I have never had. They're so cruel, even though I'm just like them! But am I really?… On the way to Azkaban, the first time…The feeling of cruel glee at the sight of Sirius' face as I taunt him, lying like a snake, the new sensations of a new body… the long-lost feeling of jealousy, watching her taunt him, wondering how she knows so well what to say to enrage him… the pang of guilt as I remember where my skill in teasing came from; Jennie and Laura at the already - forgotten orphanage, and how terrible I felt - but how terrible does Sirius feel now?… The thought of wasted energy, watching myself be kicked - but not truly me, for I feel no pain. Stupid to make him angry. Stupid to provoke him, make him hate you - hate me - more than he does already. But I am still jealous of her, of her expertise in torture, even if it is stupid… Trapped by Kirai, so recently - that never happened to me, Voldemort thought, but he has the memories… Watching helplessly as Kirai called up Death, demanding that he give up his place, wanting him to stop her but knowing that he couldn't. Seeing the anguish, once never even imagined, on his face, or rather not seeing it because of his obvious lack of face, but somehow knowing how he felt. Knowing that she would triumph, would become Death, and then where would he be?   
Voldemort digested the memories, immersing himself in them, both his and Odile's, somehow transferred with the exchange of bodies. Finally, they came to an end.   
He looked up to see Harry Potter, wand at the ready.   
Harry felt a surge of excitement surge through him. He knew that this would be the deciding moment, the final confrontation. He had been through enough in the past; he knew that he would have the motivation, would be able to slip into the state of mind that was needed for what he planned to do. Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse. "Get your wand ready, Voldemort," he called. "Prepare to meet your death!"   
Voldemort knew that neither of their spells, were they to cast any, would succeed as planned. Harry, in the excitement of the moment, had forgotten the Priori Incantatatem effect caused by the interaction of their wands. But Harry's challenge kept ringing in his ears: Prepare to meet your death…Prepare to meet your Death… and suddenly he remembered what he had, well remembered. And his mind flew back to London, and Maggie's return.   
And he realized what had to be done.   
He would never had done this, what he was about to do, before. But now, in these last few days, days in which more had happened than in the years as a spirit in the forests of Albania, he had changed.   
He drew his wand from the deep pocket in his robe, and let it drop to the hard floor.   
"Your move, Harry." 

Harry, in all his mental fantasies, had never imagined that it would be this easy. He raised his arm, and thought darkly. Thought of the hatred he had for Voldemort, all the horrors of the Dursleys, of never knowing his parents, whom Voldemort had stolen away. He thought of the anguish, everything that Voldemort had ever done to him. He raised his wand.   
"Avada-"   
He continued thinking.   
He thought of his scar, the gentle warmth suffusing it in stark contrast to the burning pain that he had previously endured. He thought of the figure when he was still unknown, helping to stun the dragon. Thought of him healing Sirius with his own blood. Thought of him, standing with that stricken expression: "That is the past, this is now! It has been discarded!" And then, thought of that expression that had been on his pale, snakelike face as he dropped his wand: fear, determination and a faint hope.   
And Harry could not continue.   
Voldemort saw this. His emotions were relatively indescribable. He was opening himself up to a long-forgotten world, as when he was a boy, when he was idealistic enough to think that he could realise his dreams all alone. But now, the dreams were different: Then, he would cleanse the world of Muggles. Now, he would save a Muggle girl - and her world.   
But how could he do it if Harry would not kill him?   
He was still sane enough, his mind still razor-sharp and calculating enough, not to kill himself in cold blood. Letting himself be killed, even if by Harry Potter, was only a small step up, but it was a step up, and his mind would allow it. But how? Part of him thought it good, the part that had ruled for all those years, when he had had to be strong, and hard, and where one mistake meant death or worse. But now, now that he had had to be softer in order to survive, and that softness, that empathy, had come back with a vengeance.   
And it showed.   
But one does not throw off fifty years with a few days. The strength, the insane desire to live and overcome, that had kept him going, even in his lowest period, existing as an incorporeal spirit, was still there. Voldemort was still the calculating, logical being, not given to emotion. And as he stood, staring at Potter, daring him to kill him, he saw that there was another way. He Fetched his wand, and with a single word bound his arms and legs as Wormtail had, a few months and a lifetime ago. Potter seemed stunned as he lost his balance, crashing to the ground.   
"You… you…?" Harry found himself muttering. Not understanding the entire situation, knowing only that Voldemort had changed, and changed again, he was confused. He shook his head, and resolved to stop from trying to think things out; instead he would focus on a more immediate goal: surviving.   
His wand was in his hand, but he was unable to move it tangibly in any direction to point at Voldemort. The Dark Lord raised his wand. As if in slow motion, Harry saw the wand point at him, Voldemort stand with a new determination in his eyes…   
"Avada Kedavra."   
Harry shut his eyes.   
And opened them a moment later when he heard something hit the ground with a soft thud. He quickly took in the scene: the great dragon, still prone on the ground, Sirius, standing weakly, wand in hand, and the once - tall figure of Voldemort, now crumpled limply on the ground. 

It is said that all wizards can see Death. This is true of Disc wizards; they can see him whenever he is present. The wizards of what we call Earth, however, can only see Death if they know him to exist; most do not, as he has not often appeared there in corporeal form. This explanation may be of some help in the following scenes. 

Voldemort got shakily to his feet. He had counted on Black's quick temper and lack of idealism to achieve his goal. At least that's what he would have said had anyone asked; he in fact had had no idea how he was going to get himself killed after Harry's earlier hesitation. But he seemed to have succeeded. He looked around.   
HELLO.   
"Hello," he replied. "I have to talk to you."   
WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL THE THEES AND THOUS?   
"Pardon?"   
NEVER MIND, said Death. WHAT DO YOU WANT?   
"Death," said Voldemort, "obey the twenty - second law of power by using the surrender tactic and we shall succeed."   
PARDON?   
"Never mind," said Voldemort. "Listen to me, and we can get rid of Kirai."   
KIRAI! Death's eyes flashed red for a moment. LET US GO TO MY ABODE, he said. WE ARE NOT HERE SAFE FROM HER SPIES.   
They mounted Binky, and were off, leaving Voldemort's long wanted, hard - gotten body behind. But somehow, it didn't matter to him. 

"Sirius!" Harry hugged his godfather as soon as the bonds were off. "You - you killed him!"   
Sirius Black did not smile. He had truly lost something, he decided as Harry prepared the Portkey that would take them back to Dumbledore's office. Something vital was gone forever. But he did not know what it was. 

******** 

aww... how sad... how philosophical. How 

*you know he's got to have a plan, she worships him, she just won't let him die* 

Go away! 

*heh heh heh* 

Anyway, this is Roanaz and Yawgi (my sarcastic alter ego) signing off!   
~R   



	8. Death's Domain: Conclusion

*** The long-awaited conclusion to Epic Eldritch Events ****  
  
  
  
"Where are we going?" asked Voldemort. He was sitting astride a great white charger, with fiery eyes, the horse of Death. This horse's name was Binky.  
  
TO MY ABODE, answered Death, sitting on the horse in front of Voldemort, his glittering scythe in his lap, his midnight cloak flapping in the wind of the Blind Eternitys, that nothingness between the universes that must be traversed to reach Death's domain. He wasn't holding the reins; Binky knew the way.  
  
AND YOU HAD BETTER BE SURE OF WHAT YOU ARE DOING, Death added.  
  
"I'm fairly sure," replied Voldemort. In fact, he was entirely sure of what he was doing. He had had enough experience with bargains to know when there were loopholes. The only problem would be getting Death to agree with it…  
  
They reached the Death's universe. It was small for a universe but quite imposing just the same, jagged mountains surrounding a gigantic black funnel. A thin spur of rock jutted out over the funnel, containing a small black cottage, and a garden, also black. In fact there was no real colour, except for the golden fields of wheat in the distance, waving in an unfelt wind.  
  
They landed, and Death stabled Binky. Voldemort was struck by the colourlessness of the entire place, but then realised that Death was what people made him. He wasn't going to have red and yellow flowers, they would have been entirely inappropriate.  
  
Entering the "cottage", Voldemort was stunned to see how large it was, more of a great mansion than a cottage. As he followed Death through a great hall, past an ominous clock with a pendulum that would have inspired Poe, he wondered idly what would happen if he knocked a hole in the wall seven metres up…  
  
Death stopped, and entered a small study decorated with very drippy candles.  
  
ALL RIGHT, He said, turning to Voldemort. JUST WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN MIND?  
  
Voldemort swallowed nervously, and began his spiel. "I want you to give up in place of Kirai. You see, because of the bargain-"  
  
He was interrupted, as he had glumly expected, by Death, His eyes flashing a brilliant fiery red. YOU WANT ME TO WHAT? THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN WORKING AGAINST…  
  
Voldemort decided it was time to exercise his power. Be Silent, he commanded.  
  
Death stopped speaking, much to his surprise.  
  
Voldemort continued as if nothing had happened. "As you recall, I sacrificed Malthor and attempted to sacrifice Maggie in order to gain complete control over you - as Death - and your minions for anything involving my body or spirit. Thus, if Kirai becomes Death I will have control over her for those circumstances. I will then have only to put her in a position of either being destroyed or influencing me in some way, and she will be forced to destroy herself."  
  
Death stared at him, the lights in his eyes glowing blindingly. I SEE, He said. YOUR IDEAS MAKE MORE SENSE THAN THEY SEEM. He nodded. WE WILL CARRY OUT YOUR PLAN.  
  
This was easier said than done, as it turned out.  
  
Kirai was slightly incredulous when Death called her up, by way of mirror, and agreed to give up his office, but wise enough not to question. "Ah, little brother," she crooned. "Had to much? Want your Magpie and your little Odile back that badly?"  
  
Death seemed nonplussed by this statement, as it was quite illogical: Odile was already dead. Voldemort, standing behind the mirror, nodded wildly, hoping Death would get the hint, which He did.  
  
YES, He replied, BUT YOU MUST TRANSFORM MAGGIE BACK.  
  
Kirai cocked her head and grinned. "Oh yes," she said, "that was quite a surprise, her praying for me. But as I'll no longer be a goddess, but an anthropomorphic personification, that prayer will expire."  
  
Death nodded slowly. THEN IT SEEMS WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT.  
  
Kirai nodded in response, steepling her red-nailed hands together. "It appears so. Magpie will be released from her draconian form, and you will retire from the office of Death, allowing me to hold it." She slowly raised her left hand and snapped her fingers, with a sound like a thunderbolt.  
  
Death raised His bony hand and did the same, and the sound was like two dice hitting the table. He slowly faded from view, but as He did Voldemort though he heard Him say, MY PART IN THIS GAMBLE IS FINISHED: IT'S UP TO YOU NOW, MORT. BUT KIRAI ALWAYS ROLLS SNAKE EYES.  
  
On Azkaban, a great rusty-red dragon lay. Its wings were limp on the hard stone ground and its tail was curled around its body, almost as if it was sleeping. On its forehead, a complex sign burned redly, pulsed, and extinguished itself.  
  
The dragon twitched, shivered. Its form shrunk and twisted uncertainly, going from red to white-speckled violet black to a washed-out pink, the leather of its wings forming feathers for a moment, then shrinking into nothingness. Finally, it resolved itself into a grey haired woman, unconscious. She seemed ancient, old with the weight of the centuries, with death and defeat and betrayal. She moaned and awoke.  
  
"Oh my… what…?"  
  
The memories came back to her then: The prayer for vengeance, the fiery rage that had consumed her being, the broken body of Odile, her only child. Then the three who had fought her…  
  
She was surprised she still lived.  
  
Maggie looked up. The stone around her was cracked and broken. A large portion of the roof of a nearby building had fallen in. The whole scene seemed lit with a pale grey light. There was no one else in sight.  
  
Except…  
  
Her heart ached as she saw, behind a jagged chunk of rock that stood up from the ground, Odile's body, lying where it had fallen after Maggie's transformation to Dragon. Despite her throbbing head, she ran to her daughter. Odile was sprawled on her side, her hand reaching out, her hourglass shattered. Death had finally come to this undeathly child.  
  
* * *  
  
I HAVE NO CLUE AS TO WHERE I AM. Death looked around. A red sun hung low in a cloudless yellow-tinted sky. They appeared to be in the centre of a desert; the ground was hard-baked red-brown mud, overlaid by a thin layer of dust. The air was dry and smelled of the dust, a scent like old bone and dried blood. The landscape was entirely featureless, just dust as far as the eye could see. No… In the distance, there was a building, pale from reflected light. The light in Death's eyes dimmed, His equivalent of squinting in thought. IT SEEMS FAMILIAR SOMEHOW.  
  
As Death walked toward the strange castle, a wind rose up. It spoke to Death of anger, hatred, a need for revenge. It stirred the pale dust, which coated Death's robes and turned them to the red of dried blood. Death stopped, and tried to wipe the dust off, futilely. It seemed he would be red-robed, then. He did not seem to have got any closer to the castle…  
  
Death heard a rushing noise behind him. He turned, and saw Binky galloping through the yellow sky toward him. As the horse approached, he too was coated by the dust, his white coat turning a sickly tan. Death noted that there were splinters sticking into his hind legs, as if he had kicked through his stall door.  
  
SO KIRAI DIDN'T WANT YOU, He mused. Binky shook his head and snorted.  
  
Death's eyes flared. OR PERHAPS YOU REFUSED TO SERVE HER? Binky whinnied as Death mounted him.  
  
No, no longer Death, He realised. The station of Nemesis had been vacated, and so here he was. GEE UP BINKY, TO MY CASTLE, said Nemesis. He wondered how much more his form would change.  
  
* * *  
  
The first thing Kirai - the new Death - did upon reaching her new domain was to remove the wheat fields, and the second was to change the pale sun to a garish red that cast its hue upon the entire universe. Her predecessor, if the pun can be pardoned, was far to sentimental, she reflected as she approached the "cottage." And he had no idea of the decor changes that could be done with a good red. As she opened the door to the great hall, she was thinking only of the wonderful things she could do, now that she had gained the office she had coveted for so long. What bloodshed would cover the multiverse, Earth and the Disc and all the universes in between! The great funnel of souls below that house would moan all the louder!  
  
Kirai walked into the study that Death had so recently talked to her from. She looked disapprovingly at the runny candles and black desk. Snapping her fingers, they were replaced by hanging lava lamps and several red and velvet bean bag chairs.  
  
* * *  
  
Elsewhere in Death's great house, Voldemort pounded desperately on the locked doors. He knew, from the memories of Odile that had crept into his consciousness, that he had to get into this room: the hall of lifetimers. Every entity had a lifetimer, even the gods. Voldemort had to get Kirai's. But he could not get into the hall.  
  
"You can't get into it, you know," a raspy voice said behind him.  
  
Voldemort whirled around. Behind him, perched on an ornamental lamp, was a large bird that he first took, with a pang of guilt, to be a giant starling. He then realised that the white patches on the great black bird were merely places where feathers had fallen out, and in fact he had been spoken to by a decrepit raven in what appeared to be perpetual moult.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked, the only response he could think of.  
  
"I'm a raven," was the reply. "I don't have any name, but Mister-Clever- Wizard who I stay with calls me 'Quoth.' But I'm warning you, I don't do the 'N' word."  
  
Voldemort, not being familiar with Muggle poetry, was nonplussed, but decided to continue talking. "What do you mean, I can't get into it?"  
  
"Don't you know?" the raven replied scornfully. "Only Death or a relative of Him… Her can open those doors."  
  
Voldemort's heart sank. He had been planning to get in and destroy Kirai's lifetimer. And now this bird was telling him that he would need Kirai to get in! He turned to the raven. Let Me In!  
  
The bird grinned, or would have grinned had it been possible to grin with a beak. "Sorry, no can do. I can get the Lady though, I'm sure you'd want that." The raven paused for a minute, than continued. "Oh and by the way, that voice won't work with me. I'm not a minion of Death, just sort of a free agent and translator."  
  
"Translator?"  
  
If birds could grin, the raven would have grinned even more. "For Squeak."  
  
Voldemort turned away in frustration. He would have to wait until Kirai came into the hall of her own accord. He would just have to find someplace to hide.  
  
* * *  
  
Time to get to work, Kirai thought. She could redecorate later. There were people who needed to die now. She strode toward the hall of lifetimers.  
  
Voldemort froze. He could hear the authoritarian footsteps of Kirai in the distance, coming closer. He looked around frantically. There was a small table covered with a velvet cloth which flowed down onto the floor. He quickly ducked beneath it, replacing the curtain and listening to the approaching footsteps. He heard Kirai stop, and then the creaking sound of the two great doors swinging open.  
  
Kirai hummed as she worked, a martial tune. She would get those whose time was now, yes. And then there were the others. Those who it was necessary to terminate. Odile was already gone, but that Magpie and that would-be wizard, Voldemort, remained. She would deal with them first.  
  
After waiting a reasonable amount of time, Voldemort got out from under the table and entered the hall of lifetimers. He found it astonishing that she had left the doors wide open, but was nevertheless grateful for it.  
  
The sound was immense. Millions of hourglasses pouring a steady stream of seconds through them. For every person alive there was one, for every living being. Time passed through them at a steady rate of one second per second. Voldemort's was in there somewhere, though time was not passing for him as it was for the others. His sacrifice of Malthor had seen to that.  
  
At his first opportunity, Voldemort ducked into a side hall, still full of the timers. He wanted to be out of the line-of-sight of Kirai, and this way was as good as any; he didn't know where the gods' lifetimers were, so anywhere was the right place to start. He walked, scanning the shelves for familiar names.  
  
Kirai scanned the shelves also, searching for timers which were almost depleted. As she picked them up, and put them in the carry sack that she had somehow acquired, she noticed that her hands had become significantly paler. Oh well, she thought, it comes with the job. I just hope I get to keep my nails.  
  
And then she saw it. Several shelves away, there was a timer, glowing red, all the sand in the bottom bulb, but not piled up, as a regular dead person's would have been, but swirling around horizontally in a miniature tornado, refusing to give up. Just as Voldemort had. The lifetimer was surmounted by serpents. "Tom Marvolo Riddle" had been etched into the glass, but that had been roughly scratched out and replaced with "Voldemort" in a scrawling hand. Kirai smiled, and lifted the glass off the shelf. Revenge would be sweet…  
  
Voldemort felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach, as if someone had walked over his grave. (As a matter of fact his body was still on Azkaban, and Maggie had been steadfastly avoiding it.)  
  
He decided to be slightly more direct, counting on his command of Death to protect him. He headed back the way he had came, searching for Kirai.  
  
Kirai thought it was her imagination: decisive footsteps in her direction, just audible over the endless hissing of the lifetimers. She looked down the hall in the direction of the noise and saw nothing.  
  
No, there was something. A tall figure, wearing not the jacket he had died in, but the black cloak that he always thought of himself as wearing: Voldemort.  
  
"Why, what a pleasant surprise," she crooned as she approached him. "Not quite dead, I see. Perhaps I can remedy that."  
  
Voldemort stared straight at her, his serpentine red eyes full of purpose.  
  
Get Me Your Lifetimer. Now. he commanded.  
  
Kirai squinted at him bemusedly. Why was this trifling human commanding her? What purpose did he think it would serve?  
  
Voldemort cursed silently. Apparently whoever kept the terms of the bargain didn't think that getting someone's lifetimer was within the agreement.  
  
Kirai appeared to have got over her confusion. She continued toward him, a glittering scythe appearing in her hands. "I gave you a chance to join me," she said. "Unfortunately, that's expired. And it seems you'll have to die twice." She raised the scythe. Voldemort stood unmoving.  
  
Stop.  
  
And Kirai could not lower the blade for the stroke that would destroy Voldemort's half-life, try as she might.  
  
Voldemort had gained a temporary advantage, and he had an idea. What if he combined the commands?  
  
Do Not Harm Me And Bring Me Your Lifetimer.  
  
Kirai stared at him, and, without appearing to realise what she was doing, snapped the fingers of her left hand, her right still holding the scythe. A large lifetimer appeared in her hand, devoid of sand. The name etched in the glass was Death.  
  
Give It To Me, said Voldemort, overjoyed. This was so easy! Once he had her lifetimer, he could - could -  
  
Voldemort realised that he had forgotten to plan this far ahead.  
  
He held Kirai's lifetimer, she could not strike him, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. So he did the only thing he could think of. He ran.  
  
Kirai was furious. He was right there! All she had to do was strike, and the pest would be gone forever! But something had stayed her hand. Her revenge was lost.  
  
"NO!" She shouted. "I must have vengeance! I desire it, I need it! Revenge must be mine against Voldemort! He must suffer loss of the soul and mind! That will be my revenge!"  
  
* * *  
  
Nemesis was exploring his new castle when he felt it. It wasn't exactly a prayer, but it was very strong. He grinned, more than usual. This was something that he could grant. Oh, he would be somewhat roundabout about it, but Kirai would get revenge. His eye-sockets blazed blue.  
  
* * *  
  
In the throes of anger, Kirai forgot about trying to hit the now-departed Voldemort with the scythe, and therefore freed herself from his compulsion. She immediately began to run after the person, knowing where he was going. The funnel of souls.  
  
Voldemort ran, out the hall, out of the cottage. He found himself in the small black garden. All around him was the great funnel. The red sun was setting, and the shadows were long, appearing almost greenish. He stopped, breathing heavily. All he had to do was destroy the hourglass somehow, and Kirai would be gone.  
  
But then what? He would be the nearest thing available, and then HE would gain the office of Death. He didn't want that.  
  
But what do I want? he asked himself. It had changed so much, so quickly. Harry Potter and the Muggles were no longer such prominent figures in his life; Odile and Maggie had changed all that. He just wanted to destroy Kirai and then - what?  
  
He cursed, then, cursed the others that had changed him so much, cursed himself for changing, cursed Kirai for forcing him to be where he was (forgetting that he had decided to die on his own), cursed the multiverse for being what it was. I should just become totally dead, destroy my soul, he thought. But he rebelled against that, too. He didn't want to totally die, he decided, he just wanted some peace. But what should he do?  
  
His dilemma was solved as Kirai rushed out of the cottage. Without even thinking, he raced toward the edge of the garden and threw Kirai's timer as far out as he could.  
  
Kirai saw her timer vanish over the edge, and, abandoning her sack of timers, leapt for it.  
  
Several things happened very quickly at that point.  
  
Kirai and her timer vanished down the funnel, joining the river of souls and the eternal wind.  
  
The bag of lifetimers crashed to the hard stony ground, breaking several of the timers, including Voldemort's. His sand swirled free for a moment, and then flowed into another timer, which had been slightly cracked.  
  
Nemesis, formerly Death, felt his old position become available again. He abandoned his search for a stable (Binky was in the entrance foyer of the castle and had already ruined several of the decorative tiles with his heavy hooves) and returned gratefully to his familiar home.  
  
Voldemort felt no movement or any sense of transfer. There was just, suddenly, a change. And then he knew not his name. He had no name. He had nothing except the feeling of fear and imprisonment. But he was also at peace: The peace of those who have no mind, and so no worries or cares, but take life as it happens. They are fearful, but at peace.  
  
* * *  
  
"What is it?" asked Ellen. She already regretted going on this hike with her brother's Boy Scout troop; it was hot and she had already drunk all her water.  
  
"It's a garter snake," replied Matthew, holding the small, struggling reptile in his hands. "It was basking on the trail, and I almost stepped on it." Which would have killed it, he added, but silently; Ellen liked snakes, for some reason.  
  
"Well, it's good you didn't," she said absently, staring at it as if she wished to hold it. Matthew decided she probably did. She was such a strange girl! Next, she would probably be naming it.  
  
"I think I shall call him Voldemort," continued Ellen, verifying Matthew's thoughts. "Now let him go."  
  
Matthew silently knelt and released Voldemort, who slithered off into the tall grass by the side of the trail.  
  
* * *  
  
Nemesis was exceedingly confused. He had never thought before, nor had arms nor legs, nor a name. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, or where the nice hot sun had gone. He just supposed he would figure out this new existence while he went along. The large black bird would probably help him, he decided; birds had scared him before, but this one seemed friendly. Now, what was the N word this bird kept referring to?  
  
* * *  
  
Maggie apparated off Azkaban with Odile's body, saddened with the knowledge that her daughter was dead. She never saw her Thanatos again, except for once.  
  
The END  
  
**************************************************************************** **  
  
  
  
Well, it's been over a year since this story was started, and it certainly has gone a long way. I would like to thank a few people:  
  
Jessica S Jade as the creator of Kirai, as the co-author, and as the person who will not kill me for writing the end without her (I hope)  
  
KNA, for basically guilting me into finishing this (I'm not angry, it's the only way it would have ever been finished, I do my schoolwork the same way),  
  
Matt, for allowing me to use his name in this fic. (well… he didn't… but he won't mind… I hope.)  
  
(If you do mind, Matt, I'm sorry!!!)  
  
J. K. Rowling, Terry Pratchett, and the ancient Greeks and Romans, for creating the characters and situations we have so shamelessly stolen,  
  
and finally, everyone who reads and reviews this. I am starved for reviews.  
  
~ ROANAZ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~;~ 


End file.
